Chapter 1

House has been told he can't see Cuddy while he is Mayfield as the doctors feel it may be a distraction. They feel he needs to accept and articulate his feelings for Cuddy and deal with his guilt about the deaths of Amber, his father and Kutner. By the last few weeks of his stay, he has addressed some of his issues. Even though he does admit he loves Cuddy, he can't articulate that he should have any plans about her, because he does not feel worthy. After months of not seeing her, he is feeling more insecure. He simply feels he cannot make a decision in a vacuum. He has to know how she feels. He signs himself out of Mayfield and by train and taxi ends up at Cuddy's door with the suitcase he took to Mayfield.

He peered through her window. It was late, after 10pm, but after only a brief hesitation he extended his cane to give his signature knock. She is cuddled on her sofa with a cup of tea, a briefcase and a laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. She looks startled for a moment, then jumps up recognizing the knock and runs to the door, flinging it open. Well, the haste was encouraging anyway, he thought ironically.

"House, what are you doing here? Your release date isn't until next week.

"My release date is whenever I choose since I voluntarily signed myself in," he retorted, hating the fall into the expected snarky pattern, when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms. He'd missed her more than he had ever thought possible. Had he but known it, his intense hungry stare was revealing. It made her tremble with a desperate desire spiked with anxious, anticipation.

"That doesn't tell me why you are here?" she tilted her head back, her chin jutting aggressively, as she gave him a challenging stare from ice blue eyes. The move tilted her neck, it's arc reminiscent of the strong ,yet fragile ankle arc of a pointe ballerina. It's pale sacrifice contrasted against the dark curtain of curls like a work of art. Any illusion of a painting was almost instantly destroyed by the revealing pulse fluttering in the base of her neck. Its vulnerability drew him, almost vampire like, leaving him no refuge from his need. It rose from his core but became trapped in his own throat and could be neither released nor contained.

"Why do you think I'm here?" he responded. He was sure Wilson had told her about his delusion, even though he claimed she had guessed most of it.

"I don't know." House. "I'm not a mind reader." There was angst in her voice that sounded more like frustration than anything else. They needed no telepathy to synchronize their thoughts for their minds had been trained to reason together through similar experiences and the yoke of their working relationship.

Wilson had reluctantly told her about the delusion, making sense of the fractured conversations from that morning. It was like the colored shards in a kaleidoscope, showing to each of them, the picture they had expected to see. Deflection and denial had led to delusion and at the very least this part was as much of her making as it was of his. She had gone through weeks of self flagellation and had come out the other side. Guilt was not a useful emotion was her mantra but she had to admit she spent the most time thinking about what his delusion meant. 'Just say it!' she thought so violently, she wondered if she hadn't said the words aloud, but she had not.

Silent seconds ticked by as their gazes locked and after a moment, his breath streamed out as if he had been holding it. This is where he always got stuck, in the admission, in the admitting. There were no more hallucinations of Amber to deter him and he would confess to her this feeling, he swore silently to himself. Better the sting of rejection, than the fool's gold that was hope. "This is it! Make no mistake where you are. The waiting is over... " The lyrics of this song had been replaying in his head on the train and it was weird, that repeating it now, is finally what got him unstuck.

"I needed to see you." he admitted hoarsely, knowing more was needed.

"Why? Are you worried about work?" She had no connection to the words, they were something to say, but her eyes had gone from smoke blue to deepest sapphire, from challenge to entreaty. This was reminding her too much of that other night when House had come to her office seeking help and just stood before her with no words. That in itself should have told her something was very wrong, because when had House ever entered her office and been wordless. "I told Wilson..."

"Hell no, it's not work," he negated, impatiently running his hand through his shorn hair. He had almost said 'If it was about work, would I be here in the middle of the night?' But the truth of it was that it was something he had done many times, the medical puzzle all important, all consuming. But he could now acknowledge that those night time visits and phone calls had been as much about the puzzle that was Lisa Cuddy. Work should be his priority tonight, but it wasn't. And even though his doctor at Mayfield, had encouraged him to reach out for what he wanted instead of just making do with meeting basic needs, in this moment, even his logical mind could no longer distinguish into which category Lisa Cuddy fell. She was not air, nor water, not food, nor shelter, but she had always provided these things for him. It was no doubt that the time without her had propelled this journey. But now that he was here, he felt breathless, dry-throated, and shivering with an ache in his belly that threatened to cave him. At least it wasn't the leg. He was on a new pain regime that included a new drug and of all things, acupuncture, and it worked at least as well as the Vicodin especially when combined with physical therapy.

He was sure this mad rush through the night to hover at her door like some pathetic peeping Tom was not what his doctor had, had in mind. This trip had taken a lot longer than the time he had come over on the motorcycle, but the extra time had not made him more sure of the outcome, just more determined to ask the question. To ask, because he could do no less, the lack of her, the loss of her, was so intertwined with his loss of reality that he still felt an overwhelming need to act, to make it real, in order to regain any life at all, so this time he would not turn from her door, or hold back his need like a coward. The problem was in order to ask the question he would have to give some answers... The hollow fear he felt was so real it made his teeth ache, but it was only a blip compared to his first months away, when his mind had played back images both real and imagined until he almost wished for a return of Amber and Kutner to drive her out of his head, if not his heart. But this was a new day, and there was no hope unless he became unstuck, just a change in one step in the sequence of events. An idiot is someone who keeps doing the same thing and expects a different outcome. He might be gifted in many things but in this one thing he was a moron. He thought his shrinks had predictably referenced his father in his inability to escape from the trap, but he was his own man now and his father was dead. He was no flying Dutchman, doomed to repeat disaster. He counted the events of the day like beads in a rosary, even as his subconscious requests for forgiveness acted as a talisman against further harm. He had actually signed himself out, instead of just walking out, and even though it was a week early he had at least followed protocol going through the paper work and submitting to the final counseling session. He had thought of calling Wilson but had decided to get home under his own steam. He then stacked the adjustments from his old behaviors, like a mason cementing bricks to a foundation.

He dropped the suitcase on her porch with a bang that seemed to wake them both. It was so simple in the end. He planted his cane firmly and took one decisive step over her threshold. There was no wobble, or limp, for in that moment the portrayal of a man made whole was no more or less a lie than the barbs he had used to keep her out. He stopped inches from her, meeting her eyes with a sudden resolute calmness that was like the eye of a storm.

As Cuddy felt his body heat radiate scent to her, she took a breath and the visceral wanton desire curled in her, tightening the spasm of muscles in the pit of her stomach. She flushed, her head turning, suddenly wanting to look anywhere else but at him. Then as she remembered the last time she had looked in his face, her head swung back, her gaze locking on his.

It had literally felt like a bomb went off in her office that day. She had held his face and willed him to be okay, even though the lost look in his eyes had told her he was not, even before the words had been pushed from his lips. She had been so afraid for him and for herself that day, the fear of his loss was like a punch to the solar plexus and silent prayers had filled her mind. She had bargained with God and even considered self sacrifice, as through her eyes she offered herself in the vain attempt to hold back the darkness of confusion from his. Moments before she had been blindingly angry, but as she realized the ramifications of what was really happening, it had exploded her mind like a super nova, making the tumult of the morning diminish to the size of a dust spec. It was like watching someone you loved fall over a cliff or be washed away by the sea. A helpless out of control feeling, it was almost like a death.

She remembered making it through the wedding in a fog, saying all the right things, and making excuses for the absences of Wilson and House. She only hoped the people playing with Rachel did not notice the shaky hands of her mother. She had left the reception early no longer willing or able to maintain the mask and when she had gotten to her car her tears were so blinding she could not get Rachel into her car seat. She had sat there in her car for over an hour holding Rachel tightly, the drops, hot and silent as they slid down her face. Someone you loved...

"I missed you." he breathed in a kind of surrender, his eyes spearing hers with intensity as his pulse counted out the seconds to her response.

"House." that was all she said just his name but it went through him like a sword. As always it held demand, but suddenly he also recognized the beseeching need. Had it always been there, or had the months apart been as hard for her. "Why are you leaving your suitcase outside?" she asked, allowing one last deflection to break that silence that was so heavy with desire. Even though her eyes were glazed with tears remembered and renewed, her voice was restrained, as tightly controlled as her emotions. Her fear was as big as his, perhaps even bigger.

"Didn't want you to think I was trying to make good on my question to you the morning before Mayfield." he admitted with that heartbreakingly wry twist of his lips.

"Question?" she murmured, searching his eyes and then gasping as she remembered his question about moving in together. "You weren't serious!"

"I was! But I was also crazy. Does that scare you?"

"Crazy, crazier. She said wiggling her fingers in the air beside her ears. "That's you, and probably always will be, to a degree." she teased, wrinkling her nose. "It's never scared me before."

The slight pull of his mouth to one side showed that her irreverence amused him, there would be no tip-toeing around his trip to the looney bin. She would mock him just as she did about the leg and he loved her for that. It gave him courage to persevere. Time for another step...

"Perhaps not scared you, but it certainly put up a roadblock. And that was even before you got Rachel."

"House your crazy is the roadblock. You never wanted to let anyone in, especially me. It didn't scare me. It's just that I could only afford to get so many barbwire cuts at a time."

House shook his head, looking at her skeptically. "There's more to it." He said pointing his cane at her accusingly, before spinning it to the floor to tap out the beat to his words. "Fi fi fo fum, I smell the fear of another human." He intoned, mockingly. "If it's not my crazy that scares you. What is it?"

It was her turn to hold her breath. "It's not your crazy, it's our crazy together, that scares me."

"Ah, you mean the enabling?"

"Yes." She bit her lip. "It's not healthy."

"Ah you mean, letting me cheat from you in school, creating a department for me, letting me be just psycho enough to cheat death most of the time, perjuring yourself, giving me the Ketamine,exposing yourself to a hostage situation and saving my life more times than I'd like to remember... I've probably failed to name even half of the things."

"Tip of the iceberg." she agreed, getting lost in their unique twisted banter.

"Sounds like you are a woman I need to keep around by any means necessary. I'm willing to do joint therapy at Mayfield as long as we can share a room", he teased. Now that he had some control over his own fear, dealing with hers was easier. Maybe he did not deserve her, but she did deserve a chance at the occasional glimpse of happiness and he was beginning to think like Wilson, that they in their dysfunction were each other's last best hope. He only had to convince her.

"About Rachel, House."

"I know." he said hanging his head, knowing this was the thing that could end all hope. He gathered himself and looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm more sorry than I can ever say that I ever spoke those words to you. Who am I to call anyone a b*stard, even though I was legalized by my mother's cuckold. It fits me just as well and in more ways than one."

"That night you were over the top and of course now I realize why, but it was not so far out of line from you usual fair. And after all I shared with you... how I bonded with her, those special times when you held her, House. How could you?" There was a break in her voice. " What you said is bad enough, but I'm more concerned with what you feel. I might be able to take most of the crap you say, but I have a child to protect." Hearing his bitter words about his own family should have increased her fear, but conversely it was an amelioration. Perhaps because his ability to admit these things was huge and she knew this conversation was one they would revisit.

"Rachel is my daughter House, emotionally and soon legally. The adoption will be final in two months. So I need you to understand that I'm committed to her, she is a helpless being and she is my priority. To ensure her health and happiness, I have to ensure my own and I won't compromise that, not even for you. Can you accept that?" she asked firmly.

"Yes, he bit out briefly, with the seriousness of a vow. He wished his own mother had been as focused and it only made him respect her more. "So where does that leave us?" he asked.

"Be bold House. You are in everything else, but this." She challenged him again, wanting him to step forward and claim her, trying to show him with her eyes that in this moment she wanted this thing between them more than anything else in the world.

Be sure Cuddy," he countered "Be very sure." His words had the low guttural tone of an emotional dam with a slow leak, that would soon give way.

"I am." she said. There was no doubt that with this man she wouldn't get the fairytale she had wanted, but if she met him half way, perhaps she would get what she so desperately needed. She stepped towards him, standing on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his shoulders , before sliding them even further to the back of his neck. It was an embrace of mutual passion and possession. on her part, it spoke of months of toss and turn in her bed by night and the stretch of rubber bands between stressed fingers as she paced her office by day. She was suddenly driven to put an end to his hunger as well as her own. They did not kiss, but nuzzled, her face feeling his thicker stubble as he moved his cheek against hers and they inhaled each other as a calming, honeyed bliss momentarily coated the rawness of their passion.

"I missed you too. So much," she breathed the words, tears beading her lashes as she offered him her mouth. He had no hesitation in claiming it, their kiss like a mating, the only sounds their raw rhythmic breaths and the incessant sounds of crickets. When their lips briefly released for air, Cuddy noticed that the door was still wide open.

"House, bring your suitcase in and shut the door," she commanded.

"You're letting me move in?" He exclaimed incredulously. The goofiest smile on his face.

"You're on probation House, at work and at home."

Her controlling tone sent the excited blood running to his face and to other areas of his body as he obeyed with alacrity, not letting her go as he reached back with his cane hooked the case's handle, dragging the suitcase in before slamming the door behind him. From outside the door we hear House's voice.

"I'm not due back to work until next week. Why don't you take off?"

We hear the laughing intimacy of Cuddy's response.

"House arrest!" he said with a delighted laugh. "Great idea, so where's your handcuffs?"

Then the plaintive cry of a baby pierces the night...

"Ahmm, Lisa."

"Yes, Greg", her voice called, already further away as she left him to get the crying child.

"Perhaps we should, maintain separate spaces for a while...

"All or nothing. Dr. House." she called sassily down the hall.

"Oh cr*p!.", he exclaimed, but his voice was smiling.

After all it was a much better offer than calling the Make a Wish Foundation.