A/N-Thank you so much to everyone who is still with the story, and to all of you who reviewed since last time: housebound, JLCH, TheHouseWitch, IHeartHouseCuddy, Bakerstreet Blues, KiwiClare, OldSFfan, LapizSilkwood, IWuvHouse, Suzieqlondon, dmarchl21, Abby, Alex, HuddyGirl, partypantscuddy, Mon Fogel, Olivia and the Guest reviewer.

Next week, I'll be back to Monday, Wednesday and Friday updates, like normal. I'm not sure if I'll be able to update Friday or Saturday this week, but I'll try.

This chapter begins with the flashback.

**-2006 Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital-**

Cuddy had seen House limping more cautiously around the hospital than normal. The depth of his pain was obvious in his eyes, in the tension written across his face. He was moving slowly across the parking lot, hoping more than anything that he'd soon hear the tired creak of his car door that would remind him that he made it, and could finally sit down. Getting into his apartment would be a whole new challenge, but at that moment, he just wanted to clear the enormous expanse of macadam between the spot in which he stood and the parking space where his car waited.

Cuddy's car pulled up in front of him, she reached across to the passenger's door and pushed it open.

"Is running down cripples a new sport?" he complained.

"Get in," she commanded.

"I'm off the clock, you'll have to go through your regular escort service if you want…serviced."

"Get in," she demanded more sternly.

"What do you want?" he asked, tired, pained and frustrated.

"I want you…to get in the car."

"Why?"

"You're in that much pain and you are going to stand there and argue with me?"

He shrugged, refusing to get into the car without more information.

"I'll take you home," she offered.

"Desperate for a manly presence?"

"I can see you're in more pain than normal. I'll take you to your apartment. I can either swing by and pick you up in the morning, or I'll have Wilson come get you."

He pondered dozens of smart and witty comebacks, but the truth of the matter was that the pain in his leg was excruciating. He wasn't entirely sure that he would be able to drive once he made it to his car.

He dropped himself into her passenger's side seat and pulled his cane into the vehicle, unable to mask the small sigh of relief that escaped his lips when some of the pressure in his leg was relieved.

Once he closed the door, Cuddy drove off without further comment. When they pulled up to his doorstep, he tried to think of a way to get rid of her before she watched him struggle up the few steps to his front door. Before he could even begin to present his argument, she was out the door and walking around to his side of the car. She opened the door and leaned down, "Come on, this is the end of the ride."

He looked up at her, "Why are you doing this?"

"Making you get out of the car?"

"Driving me home"

"I already told you," she answered with frustration, leaning down to speak to him, offering him a largely unencumbered look down her shirt. "You look like you're in pain. I know you don't want me around when you're like this…hell, I know you don't want me around…ever…but once I have you settled, I'll go."

His eyes lingered on her cleavage, finding it simpler to allow her to feel like she was being objectified than to let on that he was considering what to do next.

She stood up, extending a hand down toward him. He ignored the offered hand, stood as confidently as he could, and brushed past her. He got through the outer door, which Cuddy pushed shut and she saw the last few steps were horribly painful. She walked up to him, grabbing his free arm and pulling it over her shoulders. He scowled at her and she huffed, "Can we just drop the mandatory antagonism for a few minutes? Let me get you inside," she said as she took the keys from his hand to unlock the door.

He thought that, if he wasn't in such pain, she probably would have felt good next to him. Her body was thin, yet curvy, strong for someone of her size, but was unmistakably feminine. He began thinking about what she'd feel like on top of him, wondering if some part of her wanted to make her way back into his bed. It had been ages since they'd been that close for that long. His mind drifted unstoppably further into the thought of sleeping with her. She looked up toward him, she was saying something, and just for a few seconds, his mind was completely lost in the tempting shape of her lips, in the way that they moved when she spoke. He started to wonder what they'd feel like, moving against his own lips, or what they'd look like if she was moaning his name. "Dammit, House can you walk or not?" she asked with frustration at his inattention, breaking his trance and sending pain hurdling back into his consciousness.

"Yes," he answered. "I do this all of the time without your help."

He took a few steps and followed her lead as she stopped to shut the door, her breast briefly brushing his torso as she moved next to him and helped him to the sofa. He sighed with relief, tipping his head back onto the furniture. She handed him two Vicodin and went to get water from his kitchen, scowling her disapproval when she returned with a glass and realized that he had already dry swallowed the pills. He drifted into sleep for a few moments from exhaustion alone.

When he woke from his brief nap, he heard Cuddy still moving in his kitchen. The Vicodin was finally cutting through the pain, so he grabbed his cane, stood, and took the few steps to the kitchen. She was drying her hands on a towel after she did the few dishes that were in his sink and, from the looks of his trash can, it appeared that she had thrown out the spoiled items from his refrigerator. "Haven't had time to do much cooking," he commented.

She smiled quickly and said, "Are you going to eat?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I want to know if you are hungry"

"Stop…feeling guilty"

"I'm not feeling guilty."

"So you pick up a lot of employees on their way home…do their dishes, offer to cook for them?"

"I'm not going to cook for you. But I'll call in your order if you want something."

"But it's not a guilt thing?"

"No, House. You looked hurt. I wanted to help."

"Bullshit"

"You're right. It's all part of my plan. Take you back to your place, feed you, let the drugs kick in, and then have my way with you repeatedly because I'm just that desperate for a date."

"I knew it."

"See, this is why we can't be friends," she said.

"Because you are consumed by your desire to have sex with me?"

"No," she chuckled bitterly, "We can't be friends because you can't let your guard down for ten minutes and let me help you."

"You don't want to help me…"

"I do. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I do."

"You feel guilty because you feel responsible for the fact that I'm in constant pain."

"Can't I just want to help you?"

"Because you pity me?"

"Forget this," she said, tossing the small towel onto the counter. She went into the living room, looking around the floor for the shoes that she kicked off shortly after arriving.

"Finally leaving?" he asked.

"Working on it"

"Thank god. I was worried I'd wake up in the morning and you'd still be here. I can't imagine any man waking up next to you day after day."

"Don't worry, House, you won't be waking up with me, I'm definitely ready to get out of here."

"I didn't want you here in the first place. You were the one who forced yourself in here. Pressured me into letting you drive."

"And I'm trying to leave."

"Anything I can do to help in your currently failed attempt at leaving?"

"Why can't you let me help you?" she asked as she walked over and faced him.

"I don't know what the price will be."

"There is no price."

"Of course there is."

"I wish you'd stop treating me like an enemy."

"You first"

"I don't treat you like an enemy."

"Are you…really sure about that?" he questioned skeptically.

"I'm still your boss. I still have to sometimes say or do things that you are going to hate."

"I'm not talking about work," he said, limping directly into her personal space and watching the way she refused to move away.

"Then what?"

"Did you find a donor?"

"Which donor are you offended that I approached now? I run a hospital. We need money if you and the other doctors and staff want to continue to get paid."

"Not that kind of donor"

"That's none of your business," she replied defiantly.

"You made it my business. You showed up, asking me to help you."

"And thank you for what you did. Now thank you for forgetting it ever happened."

"So you show up, ask me to look at donors, ask me to help you with the IVF because I'm the one you trust, and then you don't trust me enough to let me know what happened. Why'd you let me in and then shut me out?"

"You're pissed that I didn't choose you. Again, obviously a huge mistake I made. It would have been so fun to tell my kid one day that her donor was a fucking brilliant physician, the greatest medical mind of my lifetime…but he was a train wreck who was shot or imprisoned or died in his apartment after a drug overdose because he refused to see what's right in front of him."

"What is it that's right in front of me? All that I see in front of me is someone who sees me as a friend of convenience. Someone who's more interested in her reputation and her hospital than any person she's near. You are the one who is blind to what's in front of them. Not me."

"What's in front of me, House?" she said, so softly she wasn't even sure if she said it or thought it.

"What?" he barked with irritation.

She stood more upright, looking him right in the eye, "Tell me…what's in front of me that I'm not seeing?"

His body language seemed calm, distracted from his pain by the conflict in front of him, but she could see in his eyes the evidence of panic. His eyes were anxiously searching her face while he tried to decide what he wanted to say.

"There are people who care about you. You just don't see it," she said with certainty.

"Neither do you."

"Tell me what you want," she requested.

"Tell me what you want," he volleyed back.

"I want to know what you're thinking. That is what I want."

His lips tensed finally when he found his answer, and his resolve. "I'm thinking that I want you to leave me alone. I want you to go home."

Her head tilted to the side and she sighed out, some of the tension abandoning her once they were in familiar territory. "Are we always going to do this? Is this…how we are always going to be?" she asked.

The tension seemed to leave him as well, and the pain in his leg pummeled his nerve endings once again. He winced from the pain from multiple sources and nodded, "People don't change, Cuddy."

She nodded. Without saying another word, she readied herself and was out the door. House limped to the window and watched her. She rushed to her car, jerking the door closed once she was inside, and he could see her drop her head into her hands as he peered through her windshield from the safety of his apartment. She sat up, turned the keys in the ignition, and steadily thumped the steering wheel with frustration. He leaned his hand on the cold glass of the large front window of his apartment, realizing that there would likely never be a day where he didn't feel the need to push her away, while wishing he could pull her closer and keep her there. It was about protecting himself, about protecting her, about sanity, and sadly in its own way, even then, it was about love.

His steely resolve shifted as he felt the weight of his cell phone in his pocket, and thought for a moment that maybe he should call her. Maybe he should invite her back inside, thank her for her kindness, allow her to see his appreciation and his concern for her in return without a heavy protective veil. His mind jolted with confusion when he saw her hand flip the keys back, turning off the car and opening her door. He felt excited and terrified, but certain that he wanted to try to have a conversation with her that didn't involve deflection. She was walking back toward his apartment, and he felt the strangest tingling of hope that, perhaps, in spite of the mess his life was in at that moment, maybe she could see him through the haze. Maybe he could see her and allow her to know that he did indeed know her.

She tossed her hair back from her shoulders confidently, her face as stern and certain as he thought his own must have been. One high-heeled foot planted itself on the bottom step and then she stopped. Her other foot lifted, just barely, up off of the sidewalk, and then she stopped. She sunk back down onto her foot without progressing forward. She looked up at his outer door, nervously rubbing the palm of one hand while she thought. Her resolution left her face before she slowly turned around, and he felt his hope sink into the ever present inevitability of loneliness and pain.

He felt deflated as his fingers tapped the glass of his window, and he watched her calmly get back into her car, turn the key in the ignition, and leave.

After walking back to Wilson's place from the bar, House took his friend's car and began to drive the two of them.

"How's your eye?" Wilson asked, sounding and looking guiltier as time passed.

"You aren't that tough," House scoffed.

"I kicked your ass," Wilson teased proudly.

"No…I've had my ass kicked. That was not an ass kicking…more like a playful, friendly pinch on the cheeks."

Wilson sneered his disagreement and fell quiet. After driving for some time he asked, "Why do you think that you and Cuddy work now when you spent so much time…hating each other?"

"Because she has an insatiable sexual appetite and does whatever I tell her to, when I tell her to do it, without ever questioning my ultimate authority."

Wilson stared doubtfully at him. "I'm going to ask her about that. Can you please be serious about this? You're willing to dig through all of my current life…I just want you to be honest about this."

"I don't know, Wilson. We didn't hate each other. We are…honest. We try to be. I guess we just…finally accepted that certain things about each other were…just who we are…we started to appreciate the differences, and then we each tried to make concessions in the places where we really needed to make concessions."

"What things did you accept about each other?"

House sighed, "If Cuddy wasn't…so…Cuddy…well…we wouldn't have great jobs, and a clean home. Not that clean. She's…motherly…that's good for the kids. She makes sure none of us get hurt. She's a…moderating factor that helps to reign in insane behavior. Because, me and the kids…we'd probably get a little crazy without her. The woman can make…anything happen. She takes…ideas…and makes them real things. Real things that won't kill us."

"And what about you? What has she accepted about you?"

"Cuddy learned to have fun. Because without me, she and the kids would be too cautious. They'd…sit and worry and be bored. She trusts my instincts. I come up with a lot of the ideas…that she in turn makes real things. If the kids wanted to build a rocket… I'd come up with how to build it, but if it was just up to me, I'd want to go all out. Probably end up with a huge rocket and an amazing explosion…that would also blow my fucking fingers off. If it was just up to Cuddy, there'd be no fire, no explosion…and the fucking rocket would sit safely on the ground. For some reason at the intersection of me and Cuddy is…a decent rocket launch and ten fingers per person."

"So, what do you think Ann and I need to learn to accept about each other?"

"She needs to accept the fact that you're more of a woman than she is," House sneered.

"A woman who kicked your ass."

"One punch does not an ass kicking make…"

"Wait…House…where are we going?"

"To continue gathering evidence."

"Where?" Wilson asked as he saw them pulling in to their next location. "You can't possibly be serious!" he yelled.

"Of course I'm serious," House answered calmly as he looked at the approaching gate and check point.

"It's a pharmaceutical company. You think you can just…walk right up there?"

"They know you, right?"

"Yea, but…they have secrets and guards…"

House huffed and rolled his eyes as they pulled up to the guard shack at Ann's corporate office. House calmly introduced himself, and pointed to Wilson, mentioning that Ann, an executive at the company who was well known by all of the staff, was ill and needed her husband to get a few things from her office to take home. Wilson signed in, he was allowed access anyway as a member of the family and a doctor who occasionally did consulting work for the company.

When they pulled in, Wilson sighed, "What do you think Ann's going to say when she finds out we were here?"

"That part's your problem. I can't do everything for you," House said, as happy as he was intrigued by the puzzle before him.

"This is my marriage we're talking about here. I don't want to do anything to make things worse."

"Five minutes. We'll be in and out in five minutes."

"I don't want to fuck this up," Wilson said seriously. "The thing is…you don't remember, do you? What it's like to be alone. What it's like to want something so badly, and not be able to have it."

The happy expression slipped from House's face and he patted the glass of the car window with his hand, resting it there and feeling the cold transfer from the smooth surface to his skin. "I have a lot. I don't spend every moment imagining that it's going to end anymore. But…I have spent more years wanting Cuddy than I've spent having her. I spent a long time alone. After years of being with her, not a single day goes by when I don't remember the wanting. There's always something, at some point during the day, that makes me remember the way things were. Because, even though I don't focus on the potential absence of everything that I have, I still understand what it would be like if it all went away. I know what you stand to lose."

Wilson nodded, smiling his understanding and appreciation. "Then let's go," he said, opening the door and waiting while the smile returned to House's face.

House tapped the window with his fingertips one more time before moving his hand to the door handle, and then chimed in, "Let's go!"