A/N: My first stab at House/Cuddy. I've quietly shipped them for a few years now, but my muse has just now inspired me to write a little ficlet about them. Spoilers for the season 6 finale here (which was a fantastically written episode, might I add), so if you haven't seen it you should probably wait before reading this so as not to spoil it!

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He doesn't deserve her.

It's painful and it hurts and it niggles its way into his brain before reaching down and eating away at his heart, but it's the truth. And he'd never been able to deny himself the truth. Fact, logic, reason- those were the things that based his reality. Those were the things that couldn't be argued, for they were the only truth he could ever bring himself to accept. And he couldn't very well ignore the truth once it was laid out right in front of him just because it was more pleasing to live in ignorant bliss.

Yet here he is, facing this inevitable truth and realizing that life has other plans for him despite what he knows he does (and doesn't) deserve.

He brings himself to his feet despite the screaming pain in his leg as he brings his gaze to her. He studies the strands of raven dark hair that escape her ponytail and frame her face- her flushed cheeks and heavy lidded eyes. He watches her tongue wet the corner of her mouth as she leans back against the wall, hands behind her back and heart hammering in her throat. And he can't help but think that she's absolutely beautiful, perfect, and after everything he's done to hurt her, he can't possibly be allowed to hold her.

But she smiles as her hand entwines with his own, squeezing his fingers as he steps closer to her. His lips touch hers in a kiss so chaste, so delicate that he has to open his closed eyes in order to make she is indeed there, standing right in front of her. She is, of course. She'd been standing there right in front of him for far too many years to count, yet it's only now that he understands all he's done to hurt her. It's now that he sees everything he's done to push her away, all the things he'd said to pick apart the weaknesses he knew all too well. All the defense mechanisms he'd used to avoid the one truth he'd refused to come to terms with:

He, Gregory House, had done nothing right in his life to deserve Lisa Cuddy, the woman he loved despite the fact he shouldn't be allowed to.

Lisa deserved a husband who cherished her. A man who gave her compliments and bought her gifts and kissed her before and after work, and who called her just to say he missed her. She deserved a man who would buy her flowers and ignore life's demands just to be with her, even if only for a moment. She deserved to have the children she'd always wanted, born to a man she undoubtedly loved and trusted.

And House feels his heart splinter as he realizes he doesn't deserve to be that man.

But now she's noticed his internal conflict- how his forehead has creased and his mouth has formed itself into a thin line as his thoughts display themselves on his face. Concern worries her face and he can't help but feel guilty again- this time for marring her beauty with anxiety for him. "What is it?"

He sighs as he rests his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes as he decides to tell her. He'd kept too many things from her already, and now was the time to change if any progress was to be made. "I… don't deserve you Lisa."

The words are soft and resigned, tinged with honesty and dripping with regret. Her sigh meets his ears as he feels her hand settle on his cheek, and he nervously brings his gaze back to hers as he awaits her inevitable response. The realization that he's right, and that she should run back to the safety of Lucas's arms while she still has the chance.

"You deserve the chance to change. And I want to give you that chance."

"Why?" The word isn't accusatory but genuinely curious, full of confusion as he continues to hold her close. What good quality could she possibly see in him in order to allow him to try to mend his irrevocable insults and wrongs?

"Because I love you. Even though I know I shouldn't."

It's then that he knows she's given him a second (and third, and fourth, and four hundredth) chance to make things right, and he sure as hell isn't going to screw it up again. The two tablets of Vicodin, still settled comfortably in his palm, clatter to the floor and fill the small room with the sound of hope as his hands settle on the nape of her neck and he pulls her in for a second gentle kiss. "I love you too." He whispers against her lips as he feels her hand squeeze his once again, sending him hope for the future. Their future.

He kisses her again as yet another realization dawns on him- he might not deserve her, but that couldn't stop him from wanting (and needing) her.

-End-