Author's Note: This was a totally unanticipated piece of writing on my part. It pretty much just - happened. I've never written from Cuddy's point of view before, but I hope I've done her justice, especially considering the new situations of season seven. =]

Enjoy, and please leave your comments! I really appreciate them!

She went home that evening with his soft kiss still lingering on her lips. One small kiss in the parking lot, stolen between quick glances at the elevator door. She had turned around, expecting him to be gone, and he had still been there, looking at her, his eyes drinking her in before she disappeared behind a car door and a front seat headrest. She had looked at him, knowingly, trying to suppress a tiny smile as she waited for him to say it.

But he didn't. He was unsmiling, his gaze roaming around the silent area of concrete and painted lines and overhead ventilation. He was making sure that they were alone. His secrecy made her want to laugh, but at the same time she knew it was more than a whim. For all his parading of their relationship, it was also his most vulnerable point. Everyone knew something was different, and he most of all. He needed her because he was vulnerable, and yet his need only increased that one break in his exterior shell.

House tilted his head slightly to the side and looked at her from under lowered eyelids, as if to say Well, come on. Before someone comes down—and then a raise of the eyebrows that added And yes, I know it seems stupid. The corner of his mouth twitched rather cynically.

With a sigh and a smile, Cuddy turned fully to face him and retraced her path a few steps. She put her arms around his waist, but already he was glancing apprehensively down the row of cars towards the exit.

"What?" she asked, placing her palm against his cheek and turning his head to look at her instead of the phantoms of potential interrupters. "What are you worried about?"

He gestured vaguely with the hand still holding his cane. "People might… come down…" he muttered.

"So? It's not like the whole hospital doesn't know already."

His eyes flickered sideways, and she knew he was trying to see behind him without actually pushing her hand away. "Yeah," he agreed, reluctantly, "but it's not the same—"

Her fingers brushed against his lips, stopping any further protests. "I know," she said softly. "Trust me, I know." Then she became more businesslike. "So—why don't you just kiss me so I can get home and sort things out before you show up again?"

This time he did smile, and Cuddy felt a flood of warmth at the change the expression worked on his face. House's smile wasn't like anyone else's, and on the rare occasions when it appeared, it was all the more wonderful because of its inconstancy. She closed her eyes as he kissed her, and felt a pang of disappointment when he pulled back only a few seconds later.

"That's it?"

He shrugged, still managing to look satisfied. "For now." He added, in a low voice full of suggestiveness, "Teaser for the real thing later."

Shaking her head and loving how impossible he was, Cuddy began walking back to her car. "Good night, House." She was fairly certain she heard a "Good night, Cuddy" floating vaguely after her.

That had been almost two hours ago. Now, she was in the kitchen at her own home, keeping one eye on the oven timer and one eye on Rachel, who was trying to stuff "Quackie" into one of the old tops Cuddy had given her for dress-up. Wilson's giant duck had suffered much love and abuse under Rachel's care, but seemed none the worse for his experiences, aside from a dusty brown smudge on his bottom where his little mistress had left him on the heater for an afternoon because she thought he was cold.

The sound of ripping seams reached Cuddy's hearing, and she had to resist the automatic impulse to go and rectify the situation. Rachel would learn soon enough that some shirts just didn't fit Quackie, even if it meant a few rips before the lesson was absorbed. In any case, Cuddy had more on her mind than the duck's wardrobe difficulties.

She hadn't expected House to be the first one to give in regarding the massage therapist debate. No, Cuddy had anticipated that, as always, she would have to come up with some way to bribe or threaten him before the situation was resolved. His sudden surrender had taken her by surprise, and in her relief she had taken a few of her own walls down and invited him to her place instead of the apartment. Now she was wondering if that was still a good idea.

The first thing that crossed her mind, of course, was wondering how long House would end up staying once he got into the mood of things. At his place, it hadn't been a problem; they went there, spent time together, made out, and then she left—because she had to, because she had Rachel. But now, Rachel was here, and there was no excuse for them not to spend the whole night together. Cuddy wasn't sure if she wanted that, or if the prospect actually scared her a little. Even that first time, when they had woken up the morning after Trenton, it had been at House's apartment. It had been his space, not hers, and so it had been safe, in a way. She had nothing to lose there.

Having House in her own home, though, was completely different. That meant opening up even more, making her vulnerable to him in a way that was not altogether comfortable to contemplate. After all, it hadn't been that long since Lucas had been the one sharing her bed. How would she feel when House was in that same spot?

The problem, she realized, as she craned her neck to make sure Rachel was still occupied in the next room, was that she didn't want any more doubts being introduced to an already complicated relationship—and she was afraid that suddenly not holding back would almost immediately manifest those reservations. She believed with all her heart that she was in love with House—she knew that she was—but she also knew that additional difficulties might persuade her that being with him was far from a good plan. She didn't want that.

So would it always be like this—there would be a problem, and if House backed down, she would reward him, perhaps by making a decision she wasn't really ready for?

Cuddy rubbed her hand across her eyes and tried to shake off the feeling that she might be doing something wrong. It had to happen. House had accused her of holding back just as much as he had been doing, so this was the next step, wasn't it? Each of them trusting the other a little bit more, making a few more sacrifices… But it wasn't easy.

And then there was her other major problem: Rachel. As much as she loved House, she simply could not reconcile him with the image of a father figure. He just wasn't that kind of guy. Ever since she had made that promise to let him come here, she had found herself worrying about how he would act around her daughter—annoyed? Caustic? Just plain awkward? Cuddy didn't know what to expect, and her nerves were taking a severe straining as a result. Maybe he would be ok, maybe there wouldn't be very much interaction… No, even that didn't help, because she knew it would have to happen sooner or later. She couldn't very well keep her life compartmentalized between her daughter and her boyfriend.

In this case, she really was afraid—afraid of what the effect would be on Rachel if House couldn't bring himself to like her, if things didn't work out, if House seemed to disappear just as Lucas had. And if she ever had to choose between House and Rachel…

Beeeeeeeeeeep! Beep beep beep!

Cuddy started violently as the oven timer went off, and she punched the button on the top of the stove harder than she normally would have. House would be here in just a few minutes, if he wasn't late, and then… well, they would see. Maybe it would work. Maybe they would learn, in time, to deal with each other's lives in a way that wasn't hurtful or hesitant. Maybe, for once, they wouldn't screw up a second chance.

She had thought the changes would be sudden, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe understanding would come slowly, unexpectedly. Like a kiss in the parking lot.