"I really like having you here," House said, tracing a finger along her lower lip.
"I like being here," she assured him.
Pulling up the covers to guard against the evening chill, House said, "So I noticed. You're the flame and I'm the moth."
"The flame makes her own light." His earlier comment had been swirling around her head all evening. House a closet romantic? Could it be true? What else was he hiding under that gruff exterior? "I like the sound of that."
"You damn well should. It's true, you know."
"But why are you a moth now? What happened to the diamond in the rough?"
"Moth goes better with this analogy right now. No regrets with taking in the rough diamond-winged moth who landed on your doorstep?"
"None." She took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "Would we be basking in the afterglow right now if I did?"
"Probably not."
"Exactly." After a few beats, she asked, "This isn't the first time you have asked me something like that. After all this time, why is it that do you seem to think you still don't deserve me? Or deserve anyone at all?"
House drew his hand away and turned over, switched on the lamp, and sat up. "Too much time alone, I suppose. Too much time to over-think these things, like why I was alone to begin with. Still not sure what I should do with myself and all this attention you give me. Still getting used to the idea of someone enjoying my company."
Too much time listening to his father's voice in his head, that was the real reason, but Cuddy held her tongue on that one. He blinked the sleepiness out of his eyes and looked down at his hands, his expression unreadable. He tugged at the blankets, making sure his scarred leg was covered up. The room was chilly, but House left his chest bare while Cuddy pulled the comforter up to her naked shoulders. They would be getting up and getting dressed soon; House was always famished after sex. The lamp light glowed behind him, bringing out the silver and charcoal threads in his hair. An almost angelic appearance, and Cuddy couldn't help but smile.
He looked down to see her staring and asked, "See something interesting?" with a raised eyebrow, like he didn't know whether he should smile along with her or wait to be amused by the joke she wasn't yet sharing.
"I see something I like very much," she replied, sitting up and throwing her arms around his neck. Nibbling on his earlobe, she felt more than heard him laughing.
"Mmmmm…who am I to argue with such a persuasive argument?" he murmured.
Cuddy was a bit surprised by his choice of words. "You're not in the mood to argue with me? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?"
"No imposter can satisfy you the way I do. Arguments can wait another day. Right now I'm in the mood to be kissed and nibbled and have nice things whispered in my ear. That's not an unreasonable request, is it?""
"Not at all. I can do that," she said softly. "You're a good man, House."
"If you say so. You say it like it you mean it. That counts for something."
"You're not alone anymore."
"I can see that."
"Your memories are just that, memories. You don't have to dwell on them anymore."
"Old habits die hard."
"I think it's time to let this habit die," she said, kissing him on his scruffy cheek, her hand drifting through the light dusting of hair on his chest. "It's time to focus on you and me and our future together."
"I should. Too bad it isn't always that easy." He made it sound like he was confessing a crime, like dwelling on his past was something to be punished for.
"It isn't," Cuddy agreed, knowing that just living through the events of his past was punishment enough. "You said you wanted to hear nice things. You should say some to yourself every now and then."
House laughed softly and said, "I'm the best doctor in your hospital and best lover you've ever had."
"I have to agree," Cuddy said, and noted the faint whisper of surprise that ghosted across his face. "You're not in the mood to argue and neither am I." The reason House called her over to his apartment was on the forefront of her mind, then an idea hit like a lightning bolt. "What did you do with the note?"
"Note?"
"The note you found in the box. Where is it?"
"I put it back in the box. Why?"
"Get up," she said briskly, then jumped up and went straight for his dresser, yanking it open and tossing him a clean t-shirt, then grabbing one for herself.
"What are we getting up for?" House questioned.
"Get up," she repeated. The blue and white t-shirt she picked for herself was about three sizes too big and slipped easily over her head. Opening another drawer, she tossed him a pair of well-worn black sweats and chose a forest green pair to wear.
"It's the note." He was still in bed, watching her get dressed. "What do you want with the note?"
"Why don't you get dressed and find out?"
"Tell me."
"No," she replied curtly, pulling the drawstring on the baggy sweats as far as it would go so they wouldn't fall down and pool around her ankles. "Hurry up and get dressed. We don't have all night."
