"Have you been drinking?" He asked, turning away from her and digging around in a cabinet.
"Well, yes." She answered him blinking slowly.
"Good, let's go with that first," he turned back to her suddenly holding a bottle and two glasses.
"Uh, OK," she blinked again, ""but you didn't answer the question."
"Uh, no," echoed in a mocking tone, "you haven't actually asked it. You've just hinted at asking it. Which makes me think-- Kampai!" he cut himself off to clink his class sharply against he and knock back the contents of the glass in one swig-- "that one, you've already had a few just to get you up here, and two, you want to ask me a favor."
"What makes you think that?" Sometimes his odd gift for assessing motives was eerie.
"Well," he was pouring them another round, "if you were just here to browbeat me, there would be no hesitation. Just your usual frantic lapdog-like yapping and it would be done with." Sh rolled her eyes at the offhand insult.
"The fact that we're still talking means you're trying to approach this more delicately; which means you want something." He waggled his eyebrows, "--something big."
"Maybe you're right."
"You know I'm right. And you know I know you know I'm right." His eyes widened and his lips pursed in mock-confusion, "Maybe we need another drink." He filled his glass.
"So are you hiding from the party up here?" she asked.
"Ah, changing the subject? You definitely need a little more Dutch courage," he said, topping her off. "So it's something big, because you're up here after midnight when you could be down schmoozing at a fun raiser-- your favorite. It must be something only I can help you with, because you're up here with me after midnight when you could be..."
"So you have it all worked out? I guess I don't need to say anything else then..." She took a slow sip, trying to look nonchalant as he stared at her as if she were a patient with an new and interesting symptom. She realized she had him right where she needed him: curious.
"It 's not work related at all is, it? Otherwise there would be no need for this after-hours interlude."
She tried to hold perfectly still, not giving him any reaction.
"So.. if it's not work, then it must be personal." He watched her closely, and she realized that her lack of reaction probably told him as much as any reaction would. "Personal... what personal favor could you ask of me?" He started pacing the well-trod length of his office as she tried to suppress a smile. "Run an errand? Pick up your dry cleaning... probably not." He planted his cane firmly between his feet and leaned forward towards her. "We're talking really personal, aren't we?"
She frozen in the headlights of his stare. "Uh, yes. I suppose we are," was all she could get out.
He grinned in satisfaction, then started his pacing again. "What could I have that someone like Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of PPTH, would want?" He paced right up to her, looming in her personal space. She hated having to tilt her hear up to look at him.
"Not money, not power... height maybe?" he looked down at her with a slight smile twisting the corner of his lip as he shook his head. He studied her for several heart beats.
She was almost surprised that he'd gotten this far without making the final leap. She was almost ready to flinch away from him, crack a joke, anything to escape the cold blue-eyed scrutiny when she saw his eyes widen slightly as the realization struck him like a brilliant diagnosis.
"You want my good stuff."
"I what?" she managed to get out, now the one faining confusion.
"That's it, isn't it? You," he poked her in the chest with the top of his cane. "have everything you need to be a powerful, successful, career chick. But you need some boy-gunk to pull of this Mommy thing, don't you?"
She winced and looked away. "Gah, did you really just say 'boy-gunk'? Please!"
"That's it! None of those walking sperm-cicles were good enough for you. What kind of man gives it up for the little plastic cup in a clinic bathroom anyway? You need someone you know..."
"Look, this way a bad idea, I need to get back to the.." She put her drink down and turned to leave when his cane shot out, blocking her path and clanking loudly against the table.
"Wait."
She stopped, her back to him, eyes closed.
"You really mean it, don't you?" He asked, his voice softer.
She turned to face him, taking a deep breath. "I guess I do. It's a very bad idea, but one I just keep coming back to. You were right. It should be someone I like."
"Which still doesn't explain why you're talking to me," his voice was still soft, gently teasing.
"Look, we've known each other for over 20 years. I know your medical file as well as I know my own. And," it was her turn to smile, "I'm betting that the personality issues aren't genetic."
"And the sex..."
"No sex."
"What?" He took a step back, frowning.
"You heard me. Look, House, this isn't a come-on, or a proposal, or a relationship. I haven't had time, or room or whatever, for a man in my life, and I don't think I'm going to. But I want to make room for a child. So, if you're going to do this for me, it's just going to be medical."
"Like donating blood? Or a kidney?"
"Something like that, yes."
He turned away from her, silent for a few moments before finally turning back to her with a mischievous look. "So, how many clinic hours are you going to knock off?"