The click of the door closing woke me up. As I blinked and tried to get my bearings a soft golden glow appeared under the bedroom door. House was up and he would be out there for a while, watching TV and having a drink for an hour or so before coming back to bed. I rolled over to his side and reveled in the warmth he had left behind. House's bed. I was sleeping in House's bed and enjoying every last second of it. We had spent forever and a day necking--I could still feel the beard burn all over my face--before going to sleep and I had more than enjoyed that as well.

Only a few months ago I had told him we weren't friends anymore, that he had wrecked my life and I wasn't going to take his bullshit any longer.

I knew he wouldn't let me just walk away. I had expected him to show up at my new apartment. The money he so mindlessly tossed into my living room proved that he wasn't going to let me go without a knock-down, drag-out fight. That was a given. House, being the territorial bastard he was, could never let anything go as long as he thought there was a chance of getting it back. Except there was no fight. He didn't drag me back into his life kicking and screaming. Circumstances beyond our control brought us together, for good this time. I think House was just as surprised by that as I was. Fate, like God, works in mysterious ways. You can't fight it, all you can do is go with the flow and see where it takes you.

A low babble of voices soon filtered into the bedroom; the television was on. I could picture him sitting sideways on the sofa, the remote in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other. For a second I thought about getting up and joining him out there, but decided I was better off in here. Lord knows when he'd go back to bed--if he even decided to--and I needed to catch up on my sleep. I rolled back over to my side and pulled the blankets up to my chin. The television voices were the last thing I remembered.


"I missed those," he said, watching me pour some macadamia nut pancake batter into the pan.

"I'm sure you did," I remarked with sincerity. The man couldn't get enough of my cooking. Living on take-out and vending machine food while I was away must have been like living in one of the outer rings of hell for him, meal-wise. "More than you missed me?"

"Almost. The food needs someone to make it."

"True."

"And someone to cook it."

"Also true. It also needs someone to eat it."

"A match made in heaven," House said with a crooked grin.

With some rather deft skill, if I do say so myself, I flipped the pancakes over one-handed. "You're an atheist," I reminded him.

He took a sip of coffee and said, "You're Jewish, but I don't think you need me to point that out for you."

"No, you don't," I said, keeping an eye on the pancakes. If I burned them he was going to take it out of my hide.

A few minutes later his breakfast was ready. I handed over a huge stack and he all but ripped it out of my hands. Unable to stop myself from grinning like an idiot, I turned back to the stove and listened to him gobble down his food. Just like old times.

He waited until I brought my plate of pancakes to the table before asking, "So…how did you like sleeping in my bed?"

Thankfully I hadn't taken a bite of my breakfast yet or I would have choked. I wasn't sure if he was serious or not so I pretended that watching syrup ooze from the bottle was the most fascinating thing the world as House continued to chow down on his food while staring at me. "What do you mean?"

"You're not bitching and moaning," he began. "You made my favorite breakfast, smiling and chatting and flirting with me the whole time. You're not even complaining about the rather obvious whisker burns all over your face."

I looked up, feeling the blush creeping up my neck. "Is it that obvious?"

"Stevie Wonder could see it. Now answer my question."

No use trying to get him to change the subject. He wanted an answer and was going to bug me to death until he got one. "It was very nice," I replied stupidly.

House chuckled, enjoying the fact that I was squirming in my seat, and said, "Was that before or after I sucked your ribs up your neck?"

I took a few bites of my rapidly cooling pancakes and said, "I enjoyed making out with you--"

"I gathered that from the way you kept moaning my name."

"--and I enjoyed sleeping in your bed. There was plenty of room for both of us."

"It was nice and you enjoyed it." His eyes narrowed. "Is that all you have to say? Was it such a mind-blowing experience that you're suddenly at a loss for words?"

"What else is there to say?"

"You have plenty to say, Wilson. Now say it."

I dipped another forkful of pancakes into a lake of sticky syrup and told him, "I liked having someone with me when I woke up. I haven't had that in a while."

"Neither have I," he said, and finished his pancakes.