Part 36
The fire crackled and sizzled.
House had kindled it at her request, then lay down on the blanket she'd spread on the floor, a safe distance from the hearth.
"You do realize how cliche this is?" he said as he stretched out naked as the day he was born.
"I know," she replied as she moved to join him. "But I've always wanted to make love in front of a fireplace."
He took the pillow she offered him. "You never have?"
"No." She blushed with her confession even as she adored the devilish gleam that lit his gaze, shining brighter than the reflection of the flames.
"Okay. But you're on top," he said as he raised his head and shoved the pillow beneath, positioning it for his comfort.
"Ass," she laughed softly and playfully swatted him across the midsection with her pillow.
He looked shocked then chided, "Watch it, woman. Any lower and your cheesy fantasy will be over before it begins."
"Good thing I know how to revive him," she blatantly teased as she dropped her pillow into place next to him.
"You're a naughty woman. I like it," he asserted with a little grin.
She snorted as she started to settle on her side. She was prepared to lay her head on her pillow but he extended his arm before she could. She happily accepted the invitation to be close to him. She laid her head on his upper arm and snuggled against his side, sighing softly as she did.
As they lay quietly, her thoughts turned to memories of the morning and what had led her to giving him the note declaring her feelings on their relationship.
It hadn't been anything earth shattering, no sudden revelation, or a building decision. In actuality, the impetus had been simple: pairs of things.
It had started with the sight of his motorcycle next to her car in the garage, and the two helmets on the shelf near the bike.
His and hers.
Then she'd thought about the pair of toothbrushes in the cup on her bathroom counter, and the two razors, and his aftershave next to her perfume. The two empty wine glasses by the kitchen sink. The blue, long-sleeved shirt in the closet, touching a blue power suit. Sneakers haphazardly laying next to perfectly aligned pumps. And then she'd thought how the situation was mirrored at his apartment.
Their lives had blended beyond the professional without any plans being made.
She hadn't asked him to bring a toothbrush, but he'd brought one at some point and there it was. She couldn't remember when he did and it didn't matter. Same with her leaving a makeup kit under his sink and putting several bra and panties sets in the drawer next to his underwear.
They had just happened. And when she thought on it during her drive to work, she'd realized she didn't want it to unhappen.
So she'd written the note and put it in the plain folder atop takeout menus she'd found at the clinic admit desk. She'd nearly chickened out on giving it to him but she'd found the courage in the memory of how they'd made love that morning, maintaining intimate eye contact through it all.
She'd seen his love for her so clearly. It was strong and passionate and tender, and her affection for him was a perfect reflection of it, as was her vulnerability.
He was such a different man than she'd let herself believe, consciously, and yet subconsciously she'd always had a sense of him, of the parts of him he hid behind the sarcasm and irascibility. It's why she'd tolerated so much and felt the need to be there for him whenever no one else was. It's why she'd asked him to stay that night, after the biggest heartbreak of her life. It's why she'd been both surprised and not that he had.
Which is how she felt about where they were now.
Left alone to nurture long-held feelings and long-denied attraction, love had taken root, deeply and passionately, and neither of them was questioning the veracity of it or the exact nature of it. Which is why what they had was not and never could be casual.
She loved him ardently and quietly, and all the degrees in between, and she was committed to it never being less than that.
"I love you."
It wasn't the first time she said it and it wouldn't be the last. It wasn't even said with more or less feeling than any time before. But it was said with full awareness of what it meant for them beyond the moment.
Her heart fluttered when he repeated it, his tone communicating the significance of it for him.
Smoothing her hand across his chest, she addressed a subject she'd been trying very hard to not think about.
"Do we just keep … doing what we're doing?" she asked tentatively and received the expected response.
"Unless you're considering gender reassignment. But if it's you…"
She gave him a long-suffering smile when she shifted to look up at him.
"You know what I mean."
His amusement faded to solemnity. And certainty.
"Yes."
She started to ask why he was so sure, if it was his experience with Stacy or if it were something else, but he supplied an explanation before she could.
"Planning leads to expectations. Expectations end in disappointment."
She didn't disagree. Her spotty and unsuccessful dating life was proof of that, and to so many other matters in life. But her nature was to plan. She would have reminded him of that but he spoke again, as if reading her mind.
"Some things can't and shouldn't be planned, Cuddy," he said softly. "They are what they are."
Reminded of an old song, she smiled. "Que Sera Sera," she said softly.
"Let it be what it will be," he said, putting his own twist on the translation.
That's what we've been doing, she mused. It's what he clearly wanted to continue and so did she. The freedom of it had been, well, freeing for her. But she feared her own nature might conspire against them eventually, especially once they were outed, and the expectations of others came into play.
"I want that," she confessed. "But how long can we realistically keep hiding this? What I feel for you…"
She shook her head, unable to even put into words what was in her mind and heart.
"I used to avoid you," he said when her voice trailed off. "Now I make excuses to see you."
She smiled. "I've noticed … even the times you're just watching."
He looked away shyly and her heart skipped a beat. She loved when he did that, and how he traced his fingertips along her upper arm. She shivered beneath the delicate touch.
"We're on borrowed time with Wilson," he said after a moment. "The others won't be far behind."
"You don't trust him to keep our confidence?" she asked, frowning. She knew Wilson was trustworthy but apparently House didn't think so in this. He'd said his friend was a meddler and gossip, neither of which she could deny but—
"He won't do it intentionally," House said, his gaze returning to hers. "But he'll be so self-satisfied that he'll let it slip."
"Self-satisfied?"
"Before … he's been after me for a while to pursue things with you."
Even though he hadn't specifically mentioned Joy, she still felt an ache in her heart at even the vague reference to the lost child. She reached for the humor in what she shared with him next.
"He was lobbying your case, too," she said, caressing his chest.
He smiled at that but then the expression went from knowing to fiendish. "We should probably have a crash cart ready for when he finds out."
She laughed softly, picturing the likely reaction of their friend. He wouldn't faint or have an MI, but he would be stunned at first, silent. His jaw would probably drop, then he'd open and close his mouth like a fish until he was able to form a sentence, probably of only one or two words at first. Then he'd grill them both, together and separately, for details.
But then others would want them when word got out. They would be fodder for the gossip mill and there was no way to avoid it and the challenges it would bring to them personally and professionally.
"What?"
The question was accompanied by a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. Her lover's bright blue eyes conveyed concern, making her realize she was frowning again.
"When everyone finds out…"
"We'll deal with it," he said and a part of her was stunned with how confident he was, especially about something so personal. In the past, he would have been a basket-case of anxiety over the issue. She felt like one when she considered the ramifications and what formalities awaited them professionally.
"We'll have to go to HR," she pointed out.
He frowned and she saw a brief flare of anxiety and felt a little better, which was twisted. She didn't want him upset, but she also didn't want to be the only one worried about it. It was selfish. Instead of worrying about being alone with it, she should have anchored herself with him, the steadier ground, instead of chasing the white rabbit.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, sliding her hand up to caress his jaw. "HR is a formality, just paperwork, but every time I think about us becoming public…"
"I know things are different for you," he continued. "I don't care what they think about me but your position requires you to care. And my reputation isn't exactly a good one to tack on."
She raised up onto her elbow and shook her head. Her thoughts hadn't gone there. It wasn't what she was talking about.
"I don't care about that," she said and she didn't. "It's just that everyone knowing … it will complicate things."
His fingers slid slowly down across her back, following the line of her shoulder blade, causing gooseflesh to rise.
"But it doesn't have to complicate us," he countered. "We can't control what people think or say, but we have a say in how it affects us."
There was wisdom in his words, and experience, making her wonder if he and Stacy had faced similar things at some point in their relationship. But she didn't ask.
"We have control of that," she said, understanding him even though she knew it would probably be easier said than done at times.
"The biggest challenges always come from within," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "We know each other's weaknesses and faults. You know mine. Some things we can expect to face. But the most difficult things will arise when least expected and in unexpected forms."
The infarction and Stacy's decision to overrule his medical choice. It had destroyed them.
"Trust," she found herself whispering.
She watched him smile fondly at her and his other hand came up to cover hers where it rested against his cheek. He held it there.
"We trust this," he said. "We protect it from the inside out. The rest of the world can go screw itself."
She smiled at that.
"Okay."