A/N: Hello to all of you wonderful people. I figured that I owe everyone some resolution even though I am officially bored with the story, so you can expect one more chapter after this one. And just as a warning, you might want to eat a grapefruit once you're finished with this chapter.

Cuddy

I am Dr. Lisa Cuddy, M.D. The door to my office reminds me of that every day. It also says so on the top of my resume, followed by an embarrassingly long list of professional accomplishments. I have always considered it rather insulting that there is no room in that list for my greatest accomplishment of all: the 'ability to deal with conceited jackasses.'

It had been relatively simple to get through the past few days; all I had to do was remain calm, confident, and composed. I was calm; I had shown up at work to sign all the right forms and smile at all the right people. I was confident; I didn't even hesitate to march right up to House's door. I was composed; right up until the moment when my world quite literally came crashing down on top of me.

The more I tried to be strong, the more my composure disintegrated. I had told no one about my pregnancy, told no one about my miscarriage; I didn't think I needed to until a pair of strong arms around me and warm breath against my neck proved to be more than I could handle.

I cried for the life which began and ended inside my womb and for my own lonely existence, I cried away my stress and when I had exhausted myself of that, I cried for the suddenly vulnerable soul folded around me.

Finally, with one last sniffle and jagged sigh, I shifted against him, testing his receptivity. Greg—I simply could not think of him as 'House' when he was seducing his piano or clinging to my neck like a grad night hickey—was rigid. I could feel nearly every muscle in his body and each one of them, diaphragm included, was completely immobile. I began to wonder if I should act more like a doctor, a friend, or a vengeful Roman Goddess if he made himself pass out for lack of oxygen, but finally, one nerve at a time, I felt his body relax against mine.

"Better now?"

"You bet I am."

I growled and tried to shove him off as he finally found his breath; or rather, it found me; my cleavage to be precise. He didn't make it easy for me, but eventually my determination prevailed over his and I was able to abandon him on the floor while I returned to where I had left my work bag by the front door.

I spent more time riffling through the bag than I strictly needed, but I wanted to send the message to House, who I could hear shuffling around behind me, that he still had some serious damage control to do.

"Strange, isn't it?" He called as I pretended to find what I had been looking for. "It never once occurred to me that sometimes a miscarriage is just a miscarriage."

"What do you mean, 'just a misc…'" I whirled around, both furious at his remark and terrified that he would try to make light of the situation.

"I was merely remarking on the lack of arrest warrants and restraining orders." He remarked quickly, looking rather terrified himself. "Although I shouldn't have the right to say anything until I've had the pleasure of excreting a microcosmic corpse out of my…"

"You can either shut your mouth now or rigour mortis will do it for you." I snapped and huffed over to his spot on the couch. I allowed a sheet of paper, House's letter of resignation from earlier today, to fall into his lap before I took a seat on his couch, as far as humanly possible from him.

He studied the print as though he had never seen it before. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"It's up to you. Anything really, other than what it's meant for."

"I formally retract my notice for termination of employment, at least until tomorrow." He placed the form face down on the coffee table, as if it would go away if we couldn't see it, and returned his attention to me. "Why have you been giving me so many chances?"

I glowered. "Why have you been ignoring them?"

"I'm a malicious jerk, that doesn't need discussion. I made your job infinitely more difficult and you gave me a week to prove myself, and then I graciously thanked you by causing you to miscarry. So why do you think I can make it up to you before tomorrow?"

"You didn't cause me to miscarry." I pointed out. "The pills…"

"The pills were there whether you took them or not, and I caused enough stress to more than make up for it." He shifted close to me, then closer still, seemingly undaunted by the fact that I straightened my back and stared straight ahead. "You are too trusting, too forgiving." He breathed into my ear, causing Goosebumps to race down my spine and sweep across my limbs like a snow swept landscape.

"That's not my vice, it's yours." The quivering in my voice gave lie to my words as he traced his lips delicately across my jaw line. "If you weren't so… determined to…" I gave up attempts at cognitive speech as he finished his journey by holding his relaxed lips just millimetres from the corner of my mouth. We were so close; I was sharing his breath, feeling his warmth, overwhelmed by the blue of his eyes; I could almost imagine that I was hearing the fluttering of his eyelashes. I had just enough willpower to restrain myself from crossing the miniscule distance between us, but not nearly enough to turn away.

Finally, after a few infinitely long seconds, he was the one to act. Not by moving in to claim my lips with his, as I was fully expecting him to, but by sitting back on the couch and studying me with his keen blue gaze. With no small amount of effort, I forced my clenched muscles to relax.

"Very well." He spoke slowly and deliberately after a long and awkward pause. "Since you're so determined not to fire me, or arrest me, or slap me, what do you think I should do to make things up to you?"

"You could… help me find another acceptable sperm donor." I replied, half annoyed and half relieved at the change in atmosphere.

"You saw how well that works out." He replied in a gentler tone than I had ever heard out of him. "I won't suggest bearing the child of any nincompoop who thinks getting off into a paper cup will earn him a passage through the Pearly Gates."

"Your standards are higher than any father's. I half expect you to set a curfew for me and screen potential dates with a sawed off shotgun."

"That's not entirely fair, I would have approved of Wilson."

"So you think I should ask him?" I asked, even though the mere thought of such a thing was enough to send me into an uncomfortable round of shudders.

"No."

"And why not?"

"I would have approved, except that you don't, which means that I don't."

"Fine, you asked me what you could do for me, and I made a suggestion. Now it is your turn."

Silence once again stalked forward to make her kill. I knew that Greg was thinking much the same thing I was, and knowing his mind as I did, I was sure it was probably very busy imagining all the various things that he could "do for me."

"I would make a lousy father." He finally broke the peace. "Can you just imagine me showing up late for her baseball games and making all the other parents cry?"

"Her?" I asked, raising one delicate eyebrow. "I don't suppose it's occurred to you that the child could be a boy?"

"A boy? Nah, what would I do with a boy?"

"You could…teach him baseball." I pointed out

"Every father wants his son to learn baseball, and every son grows up with a yearning desire to beat his father over the head with a baseball bat. Why should I conform to tradition?"

"You do realize that I'm asking, not pressuring you?" I asked, being all too aware of the seriousness of the conversation despite our light bantering.

"Yeah, I get that. Just as long as you know that I'm offering, not accepting." He suddenly leaned his head back over the couch and grinned evilly at the ceiling. "Am I the only one who gets a morbid sense of amusement out of the fact that I'm discussing having children with a woman who I couldn't even kiss several minutes ago?"

I stood up like a skittish colt, well aware of the irony myself. "It's a bad idea anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh no you don't." He moved to block my path with surprising agility. "We don't have to decide on anything tonight, but in the meantime I believe I still have twenty hours to prove my worth to you."

"And you've spent the last two days telling me that it's impossible."

"It's a bad idea for you, but certainly not impossible." He wavered slightly, off balance without the assistance of his cane. Instinctively I moved forward to stabilize him, and he responded by trusting his weight to my shoulder and leaning down to murmur gently in my ear. "Give me your trust, Lisa. You don't always have to be so strong: give in for tonight and tomorrow you can go back to being the loud and obnoxious Cuddy that we know and lo--hate."

I laughed quietly; suddenly it seemed like a great effort to keep my eyes open.

"That's it." He said with an odd absence of any kind of sarcastic wit as I allowed my eyelids to flutter closed. "Trust me."

Those were the last words spoken that night, and I surrendered my power to him, completely, and absolutely—but of course with the understanding that if he didn't give it up first thing in the morning I would fight tooth and nail to retrieve it: as it turned out, he never did hand it back to me, but only because he never fully accepted it in the first place.

I was leaning on him for emotional support, and likewise for him and physical support; we were very evenly matched and he never did anything to shift the balance of power. His movements were fluid and natural and infuriatingly slow as he settled his vigilant attention on me. We spent the better part of the night just teasing, and exploring, and testing the reactions of the other. It was a night of healing, and of starting anew, and I came to know him, physically and emotionally, as intimately as he knew me.