Floating

Chapter 13

A/N—This is definitely PG-13 + (not quite an R). Keep those cards and letters coming!

The fact of the matter was that Cuddy just wasn't sure about it. The "how." She could so easily see herself falling into his embrace, losing herself within the complexities of his eyes. And she wasn't all that sure that she wanted to "lose" herself. Not with House.

There was so much she loved about him; and so much that scared her about him. Stacy had loved him all these years. Through it all: the bitterness, the anguish, even through a new marriage. And he had loved her all these years. Through betrayal, desperate pain, her abandoning him mid-therapy, her marriage to Mark Warner.

That said something about House. Once committed, he was surely unlikely to bail. And what about that part? The daddy part. Cuddy was absolutely sure that House hadn't thought that far ahead. Or thought about it at all. She didn't want him to feel obligated. This was going to be her child. He didn't even need to acknowledge his part in it.

Of course, that part would be simpler if she simply asked him for a donation. A lot simpler. Maybe it would best for both of them. For everyone, if it stayed simple. Decision made. She would tell him sometime during the injection cycle. For all she knew, he would feel just the same way. Probably would. The injection sessions would provide an intimate enough setting, and a clinical enough setting to broach the subject.

"Need your help." Cuddy brandished a syringe as she stepping into House's inner office. House looked up from his desk. He was writing. "What're you doing?"

"Aw. You caught me. An expose about Deans of Medicine and their sexual exploits. Pictures and everything." She waited until he finished, hands on her hips. She couldn't help the smile that quirked the ends of her mouth. "An article, actually," he confided, suddenly serious. "An anecdotal clinical report on the Ketamine treatment. I thought that my perspective as a physician along with my patient experiences with the drug might make provide an interesting take. Journal of Pain Management asked me a while back if I'd be interested in writing something when I was researching the idea – if I decided to undergo the treatment. It's not really my field, but…"

"An article. It's been a long time. The hospital publications committee will be overwhelmed. How long has it been since you been the primary author on a paper?"

House thought a moment, calculating. "Eight years, four months and…two…no…three weeks. This Thursday."

"Well, however long it's been. I'm glad you've decided to do some writing. You're good at it. Besides, you have no idea how often I've had to run interference on your behalf with that committee."

"And every other committee," he replied sotto voce. Cuddy had been drawing the blinds and locking doors around his office. "Don't forget the balcony door. Never can tell when Wilson might pop in after hours."

He took in a breath as she handed him the syringe. The circumstances were different this time. This go-round. Last month, he'd he was lying half dead in the ER at injection time. Had a month really passed?

"Cuddy," he began quietly. "How much exactly do you remember about that night when you drove me home."

"Why? Did you give me GhB? Knock me out and have your way with me? 'Cause if you did…"

"What do you remember?"

"All of it." He nodded.

"Turn around and…"

"I know what to do." She smiled coyly at him, hiking the side of the skirt to expose her hip to him. He rubbed the swab gently in large, languorous circles. She was sorry when he stopped, momentarily forgetting the clinical nature of his action. She barely felt the prick of the needle. When she turned around, he was still close, waiting. For her to call the next move, and whether there would, indeed, be a next move. She was moved and terrified that he was leaving the entire decision up to her.

Cuddy breathed. She hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath, anticipating. Something. Anything. She had made the decision to let things fall as they may. That she would trust herself to be with House, entrust herself to him.

"I sure could use more of that fancy gourmet coffee of yours?" The non-sequitor took him slightly aback, until he looked into her eyes. He had never quite seen Cuddy's eyes before. The pupils were dilated. Of course, his office was pretty dimly lit. But he saw desire there, and fear. She wasn't sure about this, any more than he was.

"Looks like you could use it iced." She smiled. He had understood.

The thing about many highly intelligent people, is that they tend to overanalyze pretty much everything. Sometimes overanalysis is a good thing. Sometimes, it's better to think with other parts of the anatomy. But it was not just that both Cuddy and House were, by nature, overly analytical, but that both knew the risks, personal and professional, at stake should whatever they were headed into end badly.

"Cuddy." His voice was low. He stopped her from opening his office door. He approached her, placing his graceful hands on her shoulders. "Are you absolutely sure about this?"

"No. But neither are you. And sometimes it's just better to follow our instincts. That's what they're there for." He opened her arms to her, pulling her into an embrace, kissing her once top of her head as it rested on his chest. He broke away. "Let's leave your car here. We'll take the bike." He never thought she'd go for it.

"Why the Hell not? What's one more thing to throw at the wind?" House arched an eyebrow.

"You sure?" House tossed his helmet at her, followed quickly by his leather jacket.

This was not exactly an outfit meant for riding on the back of a motorbike. Nor the shoes. In truth, she'd never been on one. She examined it. At least it wasn't a Harley. It was beautiful, except for the huge dent on the side.

"How'd that happen?" she said a bit warily.

"Came that way. Matches me. Knocked a couple thousand off the price." Cuddy noticed the brackets.

"What're those for?"

"Cane. Are you stalling, Cuddy? Just get on."

"I'm not sure I can do this with these shoes." House rolled his eyes.

"Take them off and give them to me." He threw them into the blue bag. "You've never been on a bike."

"Brilliant deduction." House smiled. He was tempted to tease, but, with great effort, refrained.

"I'll get on, then you hop on behind me. Put the helmet on and hang on."

"To what?"

"To me."

"This is insane."

"Trust me."

"I am." With a lot more than a two mile motorbike ride. She was finally on the bike and ready to go. She leaned into him, grabbing his jacket. Smiling, he pulled her arms around him. She finally got the idea. She closed her eyes, cuddling against his back. "Oh god," she thought. "What the Hell have I gotten myself into." And they were off.

"This isn't the route to your apartment." They had stopped at a light.

"Not going there yet."

"Where…" Her question was cut off by the roar of the bike as it proceeded through the light.

They pulled off near the river. The area was unfamiliar to her. "Where are we?" Cuddy's efforts to fix her hair, wrecked by the wind, were to no avail.

"You'll see." They walked a short distance through a small park, passing the occasional homeless person asleep on a bench. "I used to love running along here. This part of the river. I started coming back here. Just to sit. To think. Here." They came to a clearing.

"Ow."

"What?"

"Shoes. I don't have…" He reached into his pack.

"Sorry. I forgot." Her spiky heels were only marginally better than bare feet. "It's not much farther." House reached for Cuddy's hand, guiding her down a small embankment. She had to admit, it was enchanting. The moon reflected on the still water creating its own half-light. But it was dark enough to see millions of stars, which pockmarked the black sky.

"Casseopia." Cuddy followed House's gaze upwards. He was pointing. "The Big Dipper…right…there." She didn't see it. "Cuddy. Stand here. Right in front of me." He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and left hand, guiding it, as he narrated what she was seeing. "Mars….there's Saturn. Venus." She leaned back lazily, nearly knocking him backwards with her unexpected movement. She turned helping him catch his balance before they both fell into the river. Cuddy held her breath as he leaned into her, bending to graze her lips with his. She shuddered at the sensation.

House continued in this fashion. Gentle, grazing kisses to her mouth, her jawline. Her eyes. He was making love to her. Slowly, infuriatingly slowly. Exquisite torture. His attentions were light as butterfly wings; they made her heart race. He stopped and she was bereft. "House…Greg…" she whispered. It was plea.

"Let's go." His voice was low. He touched her face, stroking the length of it with his thumb. "My apartment is only about three blocks from here."

The ride back to House's apartment was agonizing. She held him, her hands around his waist, under his dress shirt. She felt the scar from his abdominal surgery, stroking the sensitive skin around it.

"Cuddy, you're going drive me off the road. I can't…" But they had arrived. Finally.