Hi, readers! Friday morning, Desperado time. Remember, Desperado ends Saturday night.

I think there probably will be a sequel, not 100% certain but getting to feel more like it. My muse is a strange one. Quite active, but absolutely cannot be manipulated, suggested, coerced, driven - the few times I have ever tried to make her do something, it backfired badly. She has many times surprised me with what she came up with. But she will do what she chooses to, and there is nothing at all that I can do about it. I have no vote. That said, the odd ideas and scene snippets of her own making seem to be starting to coalesce into another story, which is the key for me. A story must be cohesive and have a definite plot, start to end, not just be a string of random scenes. Like I said, I will never post even chapter one on something that is not mentally worked through to completion. Assuming that this continues to come together, I think there will be another, but it's going to be a longer gap this time, as I have some other things in RL I have to deal with. Remember, patience is a virtue. :) Desperado is in the last handful of chapters, although remember that you can't totally trust me not to have a surprise for you still.

And I still think you will LOVE the last scene of Desperado. Hope so, anyway. It's been one of my favorites.

Pause for a minute here while I slap Wilson after last night's episode. Seriously, Wilson had House sleep in Wilson and Amber's old bedroom, with a million pictures of Amber still around? House, who was hallucinating Amber and just got out of a psych hospital for that? In what universe is this remotely a good idea? If Wilson could not stand disassembling the shrine, he should have moved back there himself and given House the spare bedroom. Or he could have slept on the couch himself, him not having a bad leg. SMACK! Okay, thank you, that felt good. We now return to your regularly scheduled fanfic.

On to 51. Thanks as always for the reviews.

(H/C)

Cuddy opened her eyes slowly, feeling delightfully and uncharacteristically lazy. It was nice for once to not have to worry about Rachel, and she felt a thousand percent better for a long and refreshingly sound night's sleep. She glanced at the clock - 6:00 a.m. - and then over at House next to her. He was still out himself, and she lay perfectly still, not wanting to disturb him. No reason at all why she had to get up immediately. It felt a bit guilty, almost sinful, to be lying in bed, but just this once, maybe, it was okay.

House's face in sound sleep was relaxed. There were still lines of pain which would never be erased, but he looked younger. She knew his leg had affected him drastically, but she had always sensed even before that that he wasn't quite happy or content with life. That was the puzzle that had been House for those who had known him before as well as after his leg, the similarities, not just the differences. Yes, his edges had all been sharper and cutting more deeply afterward, but the edges themselves had been pre-existing. That was why he had been labeled a misanthropic bastard by many.

None of them had ever wondered if something much earlier and even larger than his leg had been the catalyst for his attitude.

She really was amazed and encouraged, though, by the progress he was making in the last few weeks. Even yesterday, when unjustly attacked, he had not struck back, and he had not run, or only retreated to the bedroom. He had stayed and dealt with the fallout. He had not added her fault to the mental tally that he had always seemed to keep on people, an account register of deposits and withdrawals. He was working on opening up. He was trying with Rachel. He was starting to give indications, in tentative words as well as actions, that he really was considering a long-term relationship, a commitment, and wanted it.

She suddenly felt a wave of pure love crash over her. This was what she wanted. This was what had been missing all her life. She had thought she could create a family by adding a child to her solitude, but here with three participants, not two, was the family she had subconsciously longed for. She was suddenly unable to resist touching him, and she reached out gently, still trying not to wake him up. One hand brushed along his forehead, unable to resist checking for a fever, then down the side of his face. She stroked his hair for a minute, then ran her hands further down, careful to not apply too much pressure on his chest, which was still bruised on the right side. Feather light touches. She traced the firm muscles of his shoulders. House might have a bad leg, but his upper body, perhaps in compensation, was quite toned and built. She noted that there wasn't a difference in the size of his shoulders. He obviously did work out, trying to keep himself from becoming even more lopsided than his leg forced him to be. She traced his ribs, too prominent under the skin, and then ran a finger around his nipples.

House shifted slightly in his sleep and let out almost a purr of pleasure, a sound that she'd never heard him make. "Cuddy," he said softly, and the corners of his lips curled up, even though his breathing was still steady. She felt another surge of love. He was dreaming of her.

She resumed her feather-light exploration and had just gotten down to the firm muscles of his stomach, tracing the scar from the gunshot wound, when a sharp cry came from the nursery, audible even through the closed door. Cuddy tensed up, fighting the impulse to leap up herself. She heard Wilson's feet coming down the hall, and when she turned back to House, his eyes were open.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning. Are you feeling better?"

"Much. You were right in your diagnosis."

"Naturally," he replied, smiling at her. She loved the pride that he took in his medical abilities even more for realizing that that was about the only area of life in which he prided himself. Her eyes went back to the closed bedroom door, her ears at full alert.

"Wilson has her."

"I know. I'm trying to stomp down that maternal instinct at the moment. Did you sleep well yourself?"

"Like a baby. At least like a baby on zolpidem." He leaned his head back into the pillow again. "I'd never realized what a difference it makes to get a solid stretch of sleep. Sounds crazy for a doctor, right?"

"No. There's a reason why we don't treat ourselves. Easier to see things objectively in others." She snuggled down against him. "I apologize again for that stupid tripwire, though. That's the reason the nightmares are so bad right now."

"I'm glad," he replied. She looked at him, startled. "Never would have been here otherwise. It's worth getting hurt."

"I think we would have come to our senses eventually. You can only contain a fire for so long." She saw his startled eyes. "What?"

"Nothing." He sighed and corrected himself. "I keep waiting for the clock to strike midnight."

"And it all to turn into a pumpkin?" she suggested. He nodded. "It's morning, House. We're already past midnight." She pushed on for a bit of humor. "And besides, to run that metaphor out, you are Prince Charming, and I'm the one out of my depth."

He laughed softly at that. "Trust me, you aren't the one out of your depth. Especially with so much depth to work with," he added, managing to reach down left handed to give her rump a pat.

"House!" She quickly pushed herself up and leaned over him, pinning him down, starting to tickle him, but she felt him flinch and immediately backed off. "What is it? Did I hit a sore spot?"

"No." He looked away, and she settled back down next to him, snuggling in, letting him feel her steady presence. "Being pinned down like that has happened a lot more negatively than positively," he said after several minutes.

She felt a stab of guilt at tackling him suddenly like that. "I apologize. Shouldn't have done that without warning you."

He gave her a remorseful glance, as if he were apologizing himself for his issues. "Maybe . . . we need to work on balancing out the equation."

She smiled. "Maybe we do. Definitely have some homework cut out for us there. But I'll give you advance notice next time." She worked her arm around him behind his neck, returning to just holding him.

"Did I ever tell you about the two hour timeclock?" he asked abruptly.

"No. You don't have to until you're ready to, though."

He continued. "When we were home alone overnight, he would wake me up every two hours on the nose. He called it a call to duty, said he was training me. I had to jump straight out of bed and run laps around the house on tacks." He felt her entire body fire up with anger. "He had a pair of shoes he'd worked tacks into, so they were just sticking into my feet. If I fell, he'd add laps. If I made any noise, he whip me and add more laps. Since then, when I'm having a flareup on the nightmares, it's right under two hours."

"Right under two hours?"

He nodded. "Like I don't want to wait long enough to have him wake me up." His fists tightened in a surge of frustration. "He's dead, damn it. And it's been decades ago. It shouldn't still be like this."

Cuddy abruptly pulled away and got up. "What are you doing?" he asked, suddenly afraid that he'd driven her away.

"You'll see. Relax." She walked around the bed to his side and pulled the covers off, then stripped off his right sock. With infinite care, trying not to jolt the bad leg, she pulled his foot over and bent down to slowly kiss it, starting at the toes, working down the whole length of the foot, taking her time. She finished that one, put the sock back on, and then thoroughly kissed the left. He was back to almost purring with pleasure at this point. "There. Did I make it better?"

He opened slightly glazed eyes. "Might have caused another problem if you'd kept on going much longer, but yes, that's much better."

She finished putting his left sock back on, then shifted up to sit on the bed beside him. "See? Things are going to get better, House. We can make them better together. Just think of all the things we have to look forward to. All of them." Her stomach growled at that point, and both of them laughed. "Here, let me give you your last dose of IV antibiotics, and then we'll pull the IV." She drew up the injections, administered them, and then slowly removed the catheter and put a bandaid over the site, picking up his right hand to kiss the spot.

He pushed himself slowly to a sitting position. "Where's my cane?" He'd just been using the pole all week. "Got to go to the bathroom, of course. I've been on fluids all night still."

"It's in the living room, I think. I'll get it." She leaned over for a thorough kiss. "Welcome to the future, House," she said. "We're going to be fine." She opened the bedroom door, and just as she was exiting, she heard his soft voice behind her, barely audible and yet enough.

"Cuddy, I love you."

She smiled and turned back. "I love you, too. Back in a minute."

House sat on the edge of the bed waiting for her, and his thoughts were miles away from his father.