This was a completely spontaneous story that I came up with and immediately wrote within the space of half a day. Nothing heavy, just cute Huddy with some humor and a dash of serious conversation.

Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D.

"Walking and talking – that seemed a very odd way of spending an afternoon." ~ Aldous Huxley, "Brave New World"

Those Dreaded Words

"House – we need to talk."

Oh, God, no. Not those dreaded words again. Whenever that particular phrase issued from Cuddy's lips, House knew that she wanted to change something. But then, of course, there was her tone to be considered. Sometimes it was easy to tell that she was just pissed about something – the way she would snap out his name first, and then add the second bit as though for unwilling clarification. Other times, the words were spoken with more of a sigh in them, as if she couldn't decide whether to be exasperated or resigned. But either way, he never looked forward to the ensuing conversation.

House drew back from what had become his favorite morning activity – bestowing lavish, mischievous kisses on various parts of Cuddy's body. He took the most unwholesome delight in surprising her with this – it was very difficult to predict exactly where his lips would land next. Now, however, his expression was irritated.

"What do you mean, 'we need to talk'?" he asked, frowning. "Here I am, enjoying myself, and you decide we need to start up a random discussion?"

Cuddy clasped her hands behind her head to prevent further immersion in her pillow. "That's what I said."

House, meanwhile, couldn't pass up this excellent opportunity to get at her sides – because it hadn't taken him very long to discover that, when caught off guard, Cuddy had a tendency to be extremely ticklish.

"House!" She sat up immediately, slapping his hands away. "Remember the part about us talking? I mentioned it about thirty seconds ago – and even your brain doesn't have that small a capacity for memory retention."

"It's a little difficult to talk when I'm doing this," House mumbled, starting to resume his kissing.

"Well, then why don't you stop?" she suggested, pushing head back to where it belonged – on his own side of the bed.

"Well, aren't you just little miss sunshine this morning?" House noted sarcastically. He flopped back onto his own pillow, then turned to look at her. "Okay, fine. What are we supposed to be talking about?"

"Whatever you want," Cuddy told him.

House looked bewildered. "You know, I'm kind of getting déjà vu with my therapy sessions," he observed, "and I'm not sure I like it. Would it be too much trouble for you to explain the workings of the female mind in this situation?"

Cuddy sat up, threw back the covers, and rose, reaching for her bathrobe. "House, have you noticed that we really haven't discussed any of what's going on?" she asked him, wrapping the garment around her and neatly knotting the tie. "We spend most of our time together making out and, if not, just doing things."

"Actions speak louder than words," House said sagely, also sitting up.

"Not in this case," Cuddy disagreed. Turning, she looked at him seriously. "Having a relationship is more than just having sex, House."

"I give you kisses," he pointed out quickly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "It's more than that, too." She strode to the doorway, picking up a hairbrush as she went, and then called back, "If all you were looking for was physical intimacy, then you should have asked Thirteen if she could hook you up with a couple of people before she left."

House poked his tongue out at her back as she left the room.

As usual, Cuddy went off to take her morning shower. And, as usual, House decided he would skip his own shower. Only about half the time did he eventually relent and take it. Today wasn't one of those days.

Stretching leisurely, he climbed out of bed and got dressed, exchanging pajama bottoms for jeans and one T-shirt for another. He pulled on socks and sneakers, then grabbed his cane and headed for the kitchen.

We need to talk….

Cuddy's words rang around in his head as he set about preparing coffee. She probably had a point, he conceded to himself – they had been so caught up in the novelty of their relationship over the last two weeks that neither of them, him especially, had actually set aside time just to talk, or even think, about where things would go from here.

But really, he thought, retrieving a pair of mugs from a shelf, what was there to say? Obviously they had to limit how much their antics would affect their professional lives – though House wasn't planning on having all the fun stop – and some ground rules would need to be established (probably by Cuddy, for the most part). But other than that…. After all, it wasn't like they had just met. They knew how each other's minds worked, what the other loved and hated. They just knew.

Pondering this, House took his coffee into the living room and sat down on the couch, every so often glancing toward the tiny hallway that led to the bathroom. Maybe, he speculated, she wanted to renegotiate how many nights a week she ended up staying here, at his place. Personally, House preferred it when she came here. Not only was it a more comfortable and familiar environment, but the chances of somebody stopping in were much lower and, additionally, it was a toddler-free zone. But maybe Cuddy was beginning to feel guilty about leaving Rachel at night with just the babysitter for company.

House drained the last of his coffee, deliberated on getting himself a refill, then decided against it. He wasn't particularly thirsty – or hungry, for that matter. With a glancing thought that next time Cuddy took a shower, he should time how long she locked herself in the bathroom, he left his mug standing empty on the table and limped over to the baby grand piano. He hung poised over the keys for a moment, then began playing, and the next ten minutes or so passed with soft jazz filling the apartment.

Over the music, he heard the distant sound of the bathroom door opening again. Accordingly, a few moments later, Cuddy appeared on the other side of the room.

"Thought you drowned," he said lightly, letting his hands fall away from the keys and turning his head to look at her. She was looking back at him, but strangely.

"House," she asked, with a faint smile, "why do you always stop playing when I walk into the room?"

House paused, staring at her – and found that he really didn't have an answer. He looked down at the floor, frowning slightly. It was habit, he supposed, almost instinct – he didn't like people watching him play. It made him somehow feel vulnerable. With the guitar, it wasn't that extreme, but the piano was different – it was like he put more of himself into it. Now that he thought about it, the only person he really allowed (if that was the right word) to watch was Wilson.

He glanced up at Cuddy again. She was still waiting for an answer.

"I – I'm not sure." He struggled to express his thoughts of a moment ago. "I just – don't like people watching."

"Why?" Cuddy asked him simply. "Because you're afraid to show them your human side? That you, like most people, like more than a lot of people, enjoy music?"

House remained silent for a few seconds. "Are you trying to make a point here?" he asked her slowly.

She sighed. "Yes, House, I'm trying to make a point – the point I tried to make earlier, except you were too busy being an adolescent to notice what I was saying."

He turned around fully to face her, almost laughing. "But – that had nothing to do with my playing, that was just you saying we needed to talk –"

"It amounts to the same thing. House." Cuddy walked toward him, rounding the couch. "How can we expect this relationship to work if you put up so many walls? If you feel like playing the piano in front of me exposes you this much, how are we supposed to actually talk about the things that matter?"

"Such as?" House prompted her evenly.

"Such as Rachel," was her answer. "Such as moving in together."

House's mind only registered the second response. As Cuddy approached, he looked up at her incredulously. "Do you – want to move in together?" he asked her, as though almost afraid of the answer.

She shook her head. "Not yet, House. It's way too soon." She took a seat beside him on the piano bench. "But do you see my point now?"

He exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Sure. Not sure how much I can do to change it, but…."

"See, this is why we need to start talking now." She put her hand on top of his. "Think of it as – post-therapy."

"I didn't like the therapy before I had it, or while I had it – you expect me to like it after I had it?"

"You don't have to like it, House." She kissed him lightly and rose. "You just have to do it. Or else –" and here she looked knowingly at him – "no more morning kissing sessions."

House smiled at her. "Oh, that's just mean. But, hey as long as we can still –"

"And no more sex," she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the kitchen.

House's expression turned to outrage. "Hey!" he said indignantly. "How come you get to make up all these rules?"

"Because," she told him sweetly, putting her lukewarm coffee into the microwave, "I'm the boss. Now come on." She began pulling cooking utensils out from various drawers. "I'll make you breakfast."

"It's almost eleven," House pointed out, standing up from the piano.

"So? You usually end up having brunch anyway, whether you recognize it or not. So, we'll eat, and then we can go for a walk."

"And have a nice, in-depth discussion along the way, is that it?" House surmised shrewdly.

Cuddy smiled brightly at him. "Yup."

Shaking his head and grinning slightly, House retrieved his cane and started limping over. "Walking and talking," he observed thoughtfully. "What an odd way of spending an afternoon."

Thanks for reading! -points to review button- House commands it! May the Force be with you.