The last few nights had been exhausting to say the least, and the fact they both managed to get a decent amount of sleep was pure joy. She could only hope what House said about his nightmare was true, that neither of them had to worry about it anymore. He was enough of a handful. Right now they could both use a break from bad dreams and carry on with healing the sick without any unwelcome distractions, real or imagined.
As the dull roar of the shower wandered down the hall and into the bedroom, Cuddy stretched and glanced over to mirror and bureau where her wall calender was tacked. Twelve full months of Claude Monet. This month La Promenade stared back down at her. She wasn't particularly fond of that painting, in her humble opinion the colors were too dull and drab. Next month was The Floating Ice, her second only to Poplars on the Epte in terms of favorites. However, she wasn't really interested in impressionism at the moment. She looked back to over the days to make sure hadn't forgotten some dentist appointment marked down six months before, and to see when she could schedule a special day off for just the two of them. Hopefully there would be time in the next few weeks. He would bug her to death until she finally marked it down.
A red slash marked a day, it marked one day on every month. The chaos from Greg and his nightmares had caused to her all but lose track of time when it came to her life outside the hospital. The red slash marked a Saturday, four days ago. The calender told her that she really missed something. Either time decided to stop this month or their lives just might be thrown into another kind of chaos.
The pancakes were light and fluffy, just the way House likes them. She watched from the corner of her eye as he devoured eight pancakes to her three, pausing only to wash it all down with a gulp of orange juice. When he was really hungry all table manners ceased to exist and she honestly wondered if he spent his early years being raised in a barn. The only thing missing was him licking the plate clean.
He deserved to know the truth, but she wanted to know his true feelings first. She plunged. "Greg?"
"Hmmm?" He limped over to the counter and switched on the coffee maker.
"Was there ever a time you thought about getting married and having a family?"
"Married...family?" House tilted his head at her. "As in a wife and kids? Me? I can only hope you're joking, Lisa."
"I'm not joking. Kids, wife, that's what usually makes a family."
"And a dog. Can't forget the dog."
"Answer the question, did you?"
He could see she was serious and wondered what the hell she was up to. "No, not really," House said, hoping that was end of it.
"Why not?" she continued, dragging out more questions. Luck wasn't on his side that day.
"Why are you asking me about marriage and families and kids?" House asked, a bit of tension creeping into his voice.
"I want to know how you feel about them," Cuddy answered as she turned around in her chair to face him. He stood by the coffee maker as it gurgled away, making the entire kitchen smell like a Starbucks.
"Did I miss some unforseen deadline, Lisa? Was I supposed to have produced a ring by now?"
"No, Greg. When you were with Stacy, did you want to have a family with her?"
"The thought may have crossed my mind once or twice," he said, looking over her shoulder at the tree branches scraping the window, then focused back on his boss. "Then a funny thing happened to my leg and Stacy walked out on me. We never got a chance to play Happy Family."
"Were you going to marry her?"
"No, and I'm not going to marry you, either," he said curtly. He carefully watched for an expected crushed reaction, preparing for the worst, and didn't see one.
"I'm not asking you to marry me."
"You're asking for something. What is it?"
"How do you feel about families and kids?" she asked, making no effort walk on eggshells with the subject. "I want to know, so please tell me."
"I don't want a family and I don't like kids. In case you haven't noticed I'm not exactly daddy material." He poured himself some coffee and limped back to the table. "There, are you satisfied now? Can we talk about something else?" he asked testily while lowering himself back into the chair.
"No."
Glaring over the cup, he asked, "Why? What the hell do you want now?"
"I'm late."
"Late for what?"
"My period," she answered simply while watching his eyes get as big as silver dollars.
