He couldn't sleep, as usual. That bothered him a bit, but not too much. House was more than used to insomnia, and he had plenty to think about. His foot dangled over the edge of the too-small bed. The night was humid and the air hung heavy. Moonlight cast its silvery glow, making the shadows look thick and solid, separate entities all around the room.
The tables had turned. Now Cuddy needed him for support to see her through a difficult time. It was bound to happen, but he always thought it would happen later rather than sooner. While there was no doubt in his mind that she deserved that support, he was more than a little worried he wouldn't be able to provide what she needed. People didn't exactly come running to him for moral support and for very good reason. A textbook misanthrope, he very well felt that ninety-nine percent of humans and humanity were worthy of his scorn. People were boring, annoying and useless. There was only one exception to that hard and fast rule. He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he had been able to get out the front door, and couldn't help but feel that by being forced to stay, they both averted a disaster by the narrowest of margins.
Cuddy was sleeping next to him, the rainbow-colored Ramones shirt looked faded in the bleaching moonlight. Not draped over him so much as clinging, as if she would fall into an endless abyss if she dared let go. He wanted to get up and drink some more of her wine, but decided to wait and see if she would move and he could leave the bed without waking her up.
The wine could wait another forty-five minutes or so. Until then he would see to it that Cuddy got some good old-fashioned rest. He shifted over a bit and winced as she dug her nails into his flesh. If he tried to get up now he would be rewarded with claw marks from neck to ankles.
What if that pregnancy test had been positive?
He couldn't be any kind of father, he was smart enough to know that. And smart enough to know the child would at least have an excellent mother.
The responsibility of a child would overwhelm him. Dealing with his leg 24/7 was quite enough, thanks. He couldn't give a kid a Vicodin and expect the responsibility to disappear for a few hours. Children just don't work that way, unfortunately.
More claws as he tried to move. No wine for him that night. He endured the nails piercing his skin one more time as he turned to Cuddy, closed his eyes and drifted.
The bed was moving, dipping. The movement was careful and deliberate. Still dark, he could see the white-blue outline of Cuddy as she rose. It was all of 4am. She should be asleep. His hand clamped onto her wrist and she yelped in surprise.
"Lisa, don't get up," he said softly, watching the silvery light thread through her hair.
"I've been awake for a while and I'm not going back to sleep," she responded, whispering to keep the quiet in the quiet night, as if any more loud noises would cause some great unforseen disturbance to the morning slowly creeping up the horizon.
"Neither am I. Let's keep each other company." He found himself whispering back and saw no need to stop. He tightened his grip as he pulled her back into the bed and threw the sheet over them. Stroking her temple, he asked, "Lisa, Lisa, sneaking off in the middle of the night. Where do you think you're going? You shouldn't up at this godawful hour."
"Neither should you, Greg."
"That never stopped me before and it's not going to stop me now."
"Did you even sleep or is that a stupid question?"
"A little. Insomnia isn't contagious, boss. Why are you awake?" Still whispering, like it was an unspoken rule even to Gregory House, a rule even he couldn't bring himself to break.
"You know why."
"Yes, I suppose I do."
"I can't just forget about it, Greg."
"You can't and you won't. I hardly expect you to," he said somberly, then changed the subject. "Did a certain diagnostician star in your dreams, dear Lisa?"
"You might have. I don't remember."
"Hmmm...that's very interesting."
"What, insomnia is suddenly interesting?"
"Insomnia, unremembered dreams. You're becoming more like me everyday, Lisa. Scary, isn't it?"
"Terrifying," she snickered.
"No wonder you can't sleep. Shall we get his and her canes?"
"Only if you start wearing a suit and tie to the hospital."
"I wore a tuxedo for the fundraiser, and I even returned it on time, clean and everything. Well, almost clean. I'm sure the brandy stain will come out. Isn't that enough for you?"
"I'm overwhelmed."
"You should be. I'm sort of a human tsunamiāI'll rise up from nowhere, crash down on you, overwhelm you, engulf you. You'll get lost and drown in me, and love every second of it."
