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In the spirit of the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, this chapter could alternately be titled, "... or: Can House Be Serious for More Than Five Seconds?"

Chapter 10: Spinning a Web

Cuddy dropped his gaze so quickly that if the flicker of uncertainty he had caught there hadn't immediately rippled across her forehead, House might have doubted he had seen it at all. She could answer back so swiftly in an argument, slice anyone who tried to cross her with a glare of splintered blue glass that it was all too easy to forget the fragility that existed underneath her confident authority – a diaphanous tangle of looping thoughts and emotions that House had learned to ignore long before he'd had a chance to understand them.

His fingers were still encircling her wrist, gently, the bones there thin and delicate, his thumb tracing lazy circles, the touch seeming to create a vortex that tapped her anxiety as smoothly as water circling down a drain. House waited until he heard her sigh, her cell phone thudding into her purse as her grip on it loosened.

He could hear the phone ringing inside his apartment but ignored it. "Cuddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Come inside."

"No more clever comments about hookers?" she asked, her voice low.

He let go of her wrist, fumbling to unlock the door. "Not unless you want 'em."

It was much too quiet when the fire alarm was silenced, even the shushing of teachers and the stamping feet of grumbling students not enough to make up for the loss. The spotted dog stretched and yawned as they passed, his long, pink tongue arching, and though a few brave souls tried to sneak from their lines to pet him, they were quickly admonished – the dog was working, and working dogs are not to be petted, and if one more child stepped out of his or her line….

Taking her hand, House tugged her inside. If Cuddy really hadn't wanted to follow, she knew better than anyone how to fight him, but she was light as a feather, came towards him with a force that was not all his own doing. Once she had crossed the threshold, he relinquished her hand, shutting the door and locking it.

Without waiting for an invitation, Cuddy hobbled further into the room, peering curiously at her surroundings. He thought he saw the beginnings of a smile – or something like it; she seemed to approve, and he wouldn't have thought that at all mattered to him until felt the strange tingling of relief.

Loudly exaggerating his limp, House made his way towards her. "If I didn't know any better, Cuddy, I'd say you were mocking me."

"Yes," she replied wryly, quickly glancing over her shoulder at him. "I'm walking like this to annoy you." Even with her back to him, he saw her shiver, the fabric of his jacket stretching at her shoulders as she pulled it more tightly around her.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes and – "

"Finish that statement, House, and so help me…."

The girl was the only one not frowning as they slogged back inside, and afterwards, the schoolboy wondered if she had known all along what was going to happen next. The teacher had only just begun to restore order in the classroom when the fire alarm sounded once again.

He shuffled silently in her direction. Cuddy stiffened when his hands found her shoulders, and he kneaded her taut muscles before lifting his wet jacket away. "You really do need to lighten up."

He turned her to face him and she followed his lead, arms crossed and pouting like a petulant child. Her expression changed as she watched him watching her, and he suspected it had something to do with the way his eyes raked up and down her body. "I'll grab something for you to change into."

Cuddy's cheeks colored and she gestured wildly at her soaked and no doubt ruined dress. "I can just…."

"You're not sitting your wet ass on my couch," he tried to threaten. "The size of it is enough strain for the cushions already."

"It'll dry eventually," she muttered, pushing at the soggy material that had ridden a few inches up her thigh, clinging stubbornly to smooth, damp skin. Her eyes swept to the door. "Or – "

The firemen hadn't had time to pack up and leave, some of them standing outside the door to the school to make sure they got out safely. The girl waved at the firemen as they passed, and one of them broke the code of silent and watchful seriousness, a smile unfolding under his bristly mustache. Blushing and giggling, the girl quickly looked away, and though the schoolboy tried to shoot daggers at the smiling, mustachioed firemen with his eyes, they were unable to penetrate his thick firefighter's coat.

"They're just clothes," he cut in quickly. "Clean, even."

"I didn't think you knew what clean was."

"Hey now. There's no need for attacks on personal hygiene." He started towards the bedroom, and she followed. They were talking now only to cover the silence.

She stayed carefully two steps behind him. "You mean there wouldn't be if…."

He stopped abruptly before the dresser, and Cuddy jumped back before she ran into him. It was stilted and awkward, this dance they were doing – two middle-schoolers at their first semi-formal, embarrassed to make eye contact and unable to keep up even with the slow rhythm of the song when all their attention was focused on not stepping on the other's toes and staying almost an arm's length apart: innocent for now, perhaps, but all so pointless and stupid when it would only be a matter of time before they were grinding and gyrating, swapping STDs and saliva with the rest of adolescent America.

The unmistakable scent of stale cleanliness wafted into his nostrils – cotton infused with the rich aroma of wood. House held out a white undershirt, a blue-plaid pair of flannel pants that had been a bit snug for ages but he had still kept crammed into the back of a drawer. When Cuddy didn't immediately take them, he pushed them into her arms.

"You used to borrow my clothes all the time. And those were nowhere near clean."

There was little he could do to compete with a fireman, the schoolboy thought sulkily, the sunlight doing little to cheer him. At least until he grew up and became a fireman himself, but that wouldn't be for years and years, and by that time, the girl would probably have forgotten all about him.

"That," Cuddy started, taking the items from him, "was a long time ago."

"What's really changed? You've put on a few soft pounds and I've lost some muscle. Maybe we've both got M.D.'s now, but we played doctor enough back then to…." He paused, frowning as a familiar guilt crept into her features. "Relax," he added after a moment, and maybe all it would take to release her completely was a few simple words – It's not your fault.

It's exactly what he meant even if the words and tone were distorted. "I'm sure no one at your 25-year reunion will notice. It's all about T 'n' A in this day and age, and you've got both of those well-covered." He glanced downward here, smirking, a master of theatrics, and if this particular gesture happened to award him with an improved view of her breasts, then all the better. "Or not, as the case may be…."

Cuddy rolled her eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, still catching the edge of her grin as she slipped past him towards the bathroom. Never one to let a good view go to waste, House watched her go, ducking back into his room as the door shut.

The fire alarm quieted more quickly this time, but started back up not a second later. It was boring and squirmy, standing so close to the playground and not being able to play on it, and the sunshine was starting to make him itch. The girl was all but jumping through hoops to get his attention, smiling and poking and making faces as he had before, but the boy's thoughts were still on the smiling fireman, and he was trying to ignore her.

He wasn't surprised that he finished changing before her – she was probably taking the time to attempt to fix and fold best she could, while his suit lay on the bedroom floor in a crumpled heap. Casting a glance at the closed bathroom door, House walked back into the living room just as the phone began to ring again, invasive and blaring.

"What?" he barked into the receiver.

"Hello to you, too," Wilson's voice answered, annoyed and somewhat hurt.

"I knew it was you. What do you want?"

"That's a great tone to take with the one person concerned with your wellbeing – aside from your mother. I tried calling your cell – "

"Battery died." He used his cane to lift his suit jacket off the back of the couch and drape it over a more out-of-the-way chair.

" – and here. I was about to come over. Did everything…?"

Wilson had paused, the inflection of whatever he'd last said indicating it was something to which House should respond. But although House had heard most of the words, had an answer on the tip of his tongue, he was struck momentarily dumb the instant Cuddy appeared in the doorway.

She had pulled her hair back into a sloppy ponytail, a few loose curls playing around her neck. His shirt hung loosely on her thin frame, the pant legs wrinkling around her ankles and hiding the tops of her bare feet. Arms folded, she leaned against the doorframe to take the weight off her foot, watching him. House swallowed.

Hey, the schoolboy's friend hissed, kicking at his shin to make sure he had his full attention, She wants you. The friend jabbed a thumb in the girl's direction, looked none too happy to be the one to have to deliver this message, but when the girl thanked him, so sweetly, he became so flustered that he had to turn back around.

"House?... House?"

Where the hell was this voice coming from and why was it shouting in his ear?

Tearing his eyes from Cuddy so he could force something like rational thought through his brain, House felt the solid weight of the phone in his hand, remembered Wilson, and just as quickly, tried to forget him.

"Gotta go," he grumbled into the phone. "Bad connection."

"This is your landli– "

But the receiver hit the cradle with a satisfying clunk. And that was the end of that.

"How's Wilson?" Cuddy asked.

"Annoying." House rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, stabbing his cane in the vague direction of her foot. "You should put that on the rocks."

"It's not going to do much good now."

"Some doctor you are, refusing treatment. What kind of example is that to set for your med students?"

"A better one than you set for your team."

"Ah, but mine are almost all grown up." He headed towards the kitchen, hooking his cane on the doorframe and leaving her standing behind him as he shouted, the words mixing with the clinking of ice cubes and glass. "Took off their training wheels, got their own prescription pads and everything. Yours are still eating stuff they pull out of their noses and calling you Mommy."

The girl pressed something into the schoolboy's palm before he had a chance to face her. Diamonds, she said, and he held the pebble up in the sunlight, squinting at the sparkles that danced on its rough surface. The spotted dog barked, but it sounded far away.

House returned with a plastic bag filled with ice and two stacked glasses of vodka. Cuddy was at the piano, fingering the keys.

"Here's that dry martini." Anticipating her reaction, he grinned as she rolled her eyes and took the glass. He took a swallow from his own and placed it on the piano, the alcohol burning warmly as it slithered down his throat. "You play?"

"No." She sipped her vodka, spluttering as he suddenly angled his body against hers, forcing her backwards. She stumbled back against the couch, flopping onto the cushions when he pushed on her shoulders and shooting him a glare as her drink spilled onto her fingers. He propped her leg up on the coffee table, sliding the flannel up her toned calf, letting his fingertips trail down the smooth skin to press lightly against the swollen edges of her bruise as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She sucked in a breath, hitting a higher note as he replaced his fingers with the bag of ice as he placed the ice on her bruise, but her expression softened and she nodded at the piano. "Will you?"

The girl shook her head when he tried to return the treasure, hiding her hands behind her back. He pocketed it with a grin, all forgiven, but now he needed something to give to her in return. Good fortune had placed them next to a patch of dandelions, mostly bright yellow and flowery, but one had already transformed into a white ball of fluff. The boy bent and plucked the single no-longer-a-flower delicately, careful not to disturb its fuzzy surface, and held it out to her.

House headed towards the piano – his drink was still there, which was as good an excuse as any, and he snagged a bottle of Vicodin he found along the way, tipping a pill into his mouth and chasing it with a swig of vodka. "What do you think I am, a jukebox?"

"God, if I could control what came out of your mouth with a few buttons and a roll of quarters…."

He never played for anyone, especially when asked, but if there were one person for whom he would make an exception….

It wasn't a song at all, just a few random notes and chords that came to him as he stood by the piano, but it was enough to silence her, more full of truth than anything he had said to her in years. Giving in to her request and the music, House seated himself on the piano bench, played now with both hands. Cuddy downed the rest of her vodka in one gulp, the ice cubes clattering as she kicked the bag off her foot and rose.

The girl took the dandelion with as if were the most precious thing she would ever hold, her hand shaking and the fluff trembling when a tinny voice called for attention over a loudspeaker and announced that a spider in the fire alarm kept triggering the mechanism.

"Hasn't been twenty minutes yet," he scolded, watching her circle the piano until she left his field of vision.

He could feel her standing behind him as easily as he felt the music vibrating through the air, sensed the heat of her eyes following the waltz of fingers across the keys. He slid down the bench to allow her room to sit at the same moment that he knew she wasn't going to, the motion clumsy and jerking as he tried too late to stop it.

The warmth of a hand was on his shoulder and he turned, one hand still lazily playing across the keys, and she was bending already as he pressed a palm to her waist.

Just like that, they moved from a middle school dance to the high school prom – after the punch has been spiked and the chaperones are too tired to pretend they'd had any more restraint or morals at seventeen. He hadn't kissed or been kissed like this since….

Normally such an amusing announcement would be cause for laughter and shouts of amazement– a sound that was echoed all around them – but the boy and the girl were busy: she scrunched her eyes tightly, held the dandelion up to her lips and blew, and they both watched the individual seeds scatter, escaping with their own parachutes on the gentle breeze.

"Why didn't we do this earlier?" House mumbled distractedly, trying to get the leverage to stand without putting any distance between them.

Two dissonant chords clamored behind him as Cuddy stumbled forward, her hands slipping from his sides and catching on the piano. "You could never keep your mouth shut long enough."

"My mouth isn't shut now," he pointed out, finally standing and pulling her close, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her jaw.

"Don't you ever…."

He chuckled as her sentence spun into incoherence. "Didn't quite get that."

"How about this?" Cuddy asked, smiling wickedly as she curled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and pressed her lips to his.

That he got, but, opportunist that he was, still asked her to repeat it, for once finding a request that she was more than happy to indulge – many times over.

Never fear -- I am winding this down, as much as it tries to fight me on that. I promise there'll only be two more chapters (House does need to cash in on his bets, after all, and our schoolkids need to be getting home).

Thanks again for reading and, if you get a chance, please let me know what you thought!