It was two slices of cheesecake and three glasses of wine later that Cuddy finally broke the silence that had settled on them. She had House in her house, and somehow, it didn't feel incredibly awkward. No, rather, it felt almost like he was at home. Then again, House could make himself at home anywhere. The talk of college days just reinforced that idea. The number of mornings she had been the unfortunate one to come rescue him from wherever he'd wound up spending the night just because she was the responsible one who would always play the designated driver, and who was always up early enough to not be really awoken by his phone calls to come save him before Cinderella turned back into the ugly stepsister. "Way to make yourself comfortable." She commented from her spot curled up in a chair across the room.
"You let me in, you served me cheesecake, and you're giving me wine, I take that as an open invitation to make myself right at home." For added emphasis he kicked his legs up on her coffee table, shoes and all. She winced at the sight of muddy shoes on her table, and he was considerate enough to notice and take them off before putting his feet right back. "So how about something else for desert?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and she rolled her eyes. She knew him well enough to know what was a real pass at her, and what was simply House being House.
"Funny, considering that you were calling what happened the last time you got something more for desert a mistake." She hadn't meant for it to sound as venomous as it was, but House felt the barb full well.
"What else would you have called it?" He asked, more to his plate than to her.
"Mistakes are what happen when you wake up the morning going 'what the hell just happened'. Six months of that is something more than a mistake."
"Giagantic fuck up?" House suggested instead, and she fought the urge to toss her glass at him. It would be such a pity to waste such good wine on pouring it over his head. When he saw her glare, he backed off the sarcasm slightly. "I was sleeping with my roommate's girlfriend. He was starting to catch on-he wasn't entirely thick you know. The same nights I'd spend at the place that actually had my name on it were the same ones you'd spend all night in the library? When usually I'd be happy when you weren't around to go playing nanny over all of us, when we could smoke inside, and not worry about you wagging your fingers when the bong came out? He was dumb, he wasn't blind."
"I'd broken up with him at that point-"
"You were still staying in his bed. I don't know what planet you come from where that means that you're no longer an item, but where I'm from, living with someone means that you're dating them. And I wasn't going to lose my friend and my drug dealer because I wanted to get laid."
"So that's all it was to you? A six month long mistake?" House took a long drink of his wine, and ran a hand across his stubbled chin. No, it was easier to tell himself that it had been a mistake, that it wasn't supposed to have happened. It was easier to ignore the fact that if they'd kept it up much longer that he would have actually developed real feelings. And it was easier for him to decide that it was a gigantic mistake, and that it should have never happened than it was for him to recognize that if he had continued the act that he would have wound up fighting Nick over who she deserved more in her life.
And because if it was based entirely on who she deserved more, Nick would have won hands down. "Yes." He replied, not caring what her response to his comment would be. It would be better to bury this all now, make her hate him, than it would be to risk things starting anew again, because he knew that it wouldn't work. She knew it wouldn't work. They both knew it wouldn't work, and they were both going to avoid it.
"Now I know why Stacy left." She hadn't intended to be quite so cruel, but if he was going to fight unfairly, so would she.
"You have no right-" She cut him off before he could finish.
"Do you consider all your relationships mistakes? Because you can't bear the thought of failing at something? You can't accept the fact that you fucked up every relationship you were in, so you act as though those relationships were never supposed to happen. You pretend as though no one else has ever mattered to you, because it's easier to deal with than accepting that you fail at relationships. You fail at people. You fail at every single thing you do except solve a puzzle. Humans aren't puzzles. Relations aren't puzzles, life isn't a puzzle, and you fail at it." Twenty years of supressed anger at the way that he'd left her in her car one snowy Februrary morning were finally bubbling up. She hadn't even realized she got to her feet until she downed the rest of her wine glass and was walking to the kitchen to get another.
"Hey woman, get me a burr." She closed her eyes at the mock-accent, and attempted to count to ten in her mind before she reached into her fridge and pulled out one of the sparse cans of bud light that she kept in there specifically for guests she didn't like.
"Stand up." The words were a sharp command, but he held her glare for a moment until she walked over, smacked his feet off the table, and pulled him roughly up by the arm. He opened his mouth to complain, but it was quickly drowned out. "You wanted me to get you a beer? Here, have a beer." She jerked him away from the rug and onto the hardwood as she strained to pour the beer over his head. She tossed the empty can at his chest for good measure, and he held her glare when she finally retreated back to the kitchen, golden liquid dripping off the end of every single hair. "Sexist bastard." She muttered underneath her breath as she poured himself another glass of wine, fully expecting to hear him limping out of her house.
Instead she felt-or rather smelled, as he reeked disticntly like beer now-his presence behind her. "Don't make me ruin that pretty white blouse of yours."
"Don't you dare even think about it." She told him as his hands reached on either side of her, pinning her to the counter. She tried to roll over to push him off, but he merely forced his body weight against her. She shuddered slightly at the contact with cool, damp skin. Instead a hand reached past hers for the hose that was supposed to make rinsing dishes much easier. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, refusing to let it go.
His left hand, the one that was not currently pinned down was moving as well, and she didn't get the chance to see it, until she felt it on her chest, gently cupping one breast. She bit back her urge to groan at the feeling, not wanting him to know that she enjoyed it. He knew she enjoyed it, and that was what bothered her. It moved from cupping to stroking, and she felt herself relax against him, ever so slightly. The height difference meant that she couldn't see his self-satisfied smirk as she relaxed her grip on his wrist ever so slightly. It was just enough for him to wrench his arm free, and soak her completely with the hose. "What?" He asked at her shriek of protest. "I didn't ruin it." He didn't even pretend to hide the way he was staring at the now sheer material covering her bra.
She shoved him away, and glared at him. "Out. Now." Was all she managed to say, and he could tell that if he didn't leave she was about to get very irate. He took this as his cue to get out, and didn't even stop to collect the helmet that had long since been left on the table by the door, instead hurrying out to his waiting bike, not wanting to know what evil plans she was plotting once the door closed.