Part 21

He had expected she would be in bed when he reached her place, especially since it was just shy of four in the morning on a Saturday.

Instead, he found her standing, arms folded across her chest, in the room that would have been the baby's. The yellow walls and the crib in the corner, which was overflowing with baby stuff, marked it as such. He frowned when she didn't acknowledge his arrival; she had to have heard him come in.

Setting his knapsack in the floor in the hall, he stepped into her personal torture chamber and briefly wondered what she planned to do with the room.

"They're coming to pick up the stuff today," she said softly as he neared. "They were supposed to come earlier in the week but they had to reschedule."

"Donating it?" he asked, stopping beside her.

"Yes." Her voice was practically nonexistent. "I've tried to ignore that it's here but I look in at least once a day."

Her confession drew his gaze. He observed an absence of tears or any physical evidence of them recently, but there was plenty of grief. The emotion had apparently supplanted guilt — the other g-word she excelled at. She held her mouth in a thin, tight line and her brow was deeply furrowed. Her eyes, when she looked at him…

"I don't know why I torture myself with it," she told him and seemed to be seeking an answer from him. He gave her one, from his own experience with his leg.

"You need to know it was real," he said, his voice hushed.

She made a soft little sound of agreement then looked back to the room. "It's not fair, House," she said a heartbeat later.

"No," he agreed, not feeling the desire to give what would have been his automatic response in the past — some brutally honest but jaded remark that wouldn't make her feel any better.

Tragedy and loss were a part of life and she knew well the random, unfair nature of them. As a doctor and administrator, she frequently had a front-row seat to the unfairness and had experienced it personally, just like him. But unlike him, she hadn't let it make her bitter and cynical. If anything, she always seemed to emerge from the crucible more determined than ever to make things right.

He had no doubt she would do the same with this situation but suspected it would take more time than usual. This was a deeply personal loss, of an actual child and of her hopes of ever being a mother.

She could try to adopt again but he understood her decision to not reopen herself to that pain. He hated pain. He hated that she was in pain, which was a change for him. Normally, he wasn't overly moved by others' suffering but he felt strongly about hers, as strongly as he did his own, perhaps more.

The argument could be made that he deserved to live in agony, if not for the things he'd done before the infarction then certainly for those he'd done after. But she didn't deserve this. She was kind and decent and cared about people. She loved the infant that had been taken from her after she'd fought for the child's life. That love was making her miserable now and he couldn't stand seeing it.

Moving into her line of sight, he forced her to look at him and not the reminders of her loss. Her gaze was glassy when she looked at him but she didn't let a single tear fall, not until after they made their way to her room and lay under the covers, skin to skin. At her back, he held her close while she cried silently. They both fell asleep in time and stayed that way until a knock on the door stirred them.

She tensed instantly, but he told her to stay in bed and he'd handle it. A part of him couldn't believe he'd volunteered to do it. But he did and he made sure the people entering her home took the things out in a timely manner. He didn't thank them when they left, even though they'd been respectful and quick. He just shut the door behind them and locked it.

He returned to the bedroom to find her sitting on the side. She wasn't crying but she looked intensely sad.

He went over and sat beside her. She took his hand when he offered it then leaned her head on his shoulder. She thanked him. He didn't respond verbally, but he did turn his head and kiss the top of hers. He nuzzled his cheek against her hair and took a deep breath.

He wasn't sure what to say or do now. With only a couple hours of sleep under his belt and still new to flexing the long-atrophied muscles of his humanity, he didn't trust himself to wing it beyond what he'd already done. So he just sat with her, quiet and still, their breaths the only sound in the room, until she finally spoke.

"I want to have sex."

Direct but tinged with emotion. Not grief. Apprehension? He didn't know why she would feel that. She should know by now that he would provide that if she wanted it. He definitely wanted it with her, more than was probably decent. Tired as he was, just the mention of it was enough for his body to respond.

Raising his head, he looked at her. She didn't move. Her head still firmly rested on his shoulder and her hand still held his.

"Hey," he said softly, which prompted her to look at him. Confronted with her sadness and fears, he found himself saying something that would either make her feel supported or worse. "You can have whatever you want."

The words were ridiculously sappy and completely inaccurate — no one could have everything they wanted — but he meant them in terms of whatever he could give or do for her.

She apparently took them that way because even though he saw a flicker of pain in her eyes, it was quickly replaced by a look of gentle fondness and gratitude. She even smiled a little.

"Sure you're up for it?" she teased him.

He gave her a playful scowl before drawing her hand into his lap and pressing her palm against the beginnings of his erection.

Her eyes flashed brighter. "Already?"

"You said 'sex'," he explained.

"That's all it takes?"

"The nightie helps," he smirked.

She stroked him through his jeans a few times then slowly stood and took up a position between his legs.

"I have sexier ones," she said when he helped her grasp the hem of the little shirt and pull it upward.

"Show me?" he asked then looked at her breasts when they came into view and added, "Later?"

"Later," she agreed, dropping the top to the floor as he pushed down the skimpy boy-shorts that barely contained her gorgeous ass.