Another Round
It's a game. They both acknowledge it, but he doubts she enjoys it as much as he does.
Or does she?
Sometimes he notes a spark in her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching as she suppresses a smile, imagines he can hear her heart beating faster when he makes her blood boil. He knows he takes a perverse pleasure in making her react to him.
This dance that they do; these confrontations that break the monotony of the workplace, different from any other exchanges he goes through during the day. It is as if they are speaking their own language. He loves a challenge and she is definitely that and more! Wit is an integral part of their arguments and if he misses a beat, loses his footing for a second, she has won the round and taken control of their dance. It is a struggle for control, for dominance. A test to keep him on his toes, to keep his mind buzzing; his intellect, and his libido, near the surface.
No, there isn't a fine line between love and hate; there is, in fact, a Great Wall of China between love and hate, but he neither loves nor hates her. He watches her and she doesn't stop him. Sometimes he wants to close the small gap between them when they bicker in close proximity, wants to touch but wont because that's not part of the dance…yet.
He neither loves nor hates her but he can't live without her as she makes life interesting. A rare stimulus that a part of him lives for; craves as much as the Vicodin. She is not the enemy, she is a sparring partner. He takes comfort in her presence but does not allow himself to slip into routine, because they have anything but routine. Like her, their confrontations are unpredictable and he revels in this fact; his interest is peaked every time as to where they are heading.
Their dance might change at anytime; new moves added, old, exhausted moves lost. New rules might be introduced to their game. Rules that he is itching to break.
Dr Greg House pauses in a hospital corridor, tips two Vicodin pills into the palm of his hand and swallows them in one swift movement. His attention is then suddenly drawn down the long, sterile stretch in front of him where, mere metres away, Dr Lisa Cuddy is striding purposefully towards him. Her fierce eyes are glaring daggers at him and her jaw seems set with barely-contained rage. He cannot help smiling in anticipation and his mind prepares itself for the next round of the game.