A/N: So you all and my muse agreed, this should be a series. Not sure how long of a series, but a series none the less. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

This was awkward. Strange, and prickly, and awkward. He had tried to sleep on her side of the bed, but a glare had sent him slowly limping around to the other side. He laid his cane against her nightstand and it looked good there, black wood gleaming against mahogany. He bed creaked too much when he laid in it, and he sighed heavily and dramatically, as his legs twitched under the covers and rustled against the sheets restlessly. The sound irritated her to the point of gritting her teeth, but his breathing was soft and even, and his weight on the other side of the bed was welcome.

She felt like a teenager on a first date – it had been longer than she cared to remember since the last time a man had actually slept next to her. It was strange and the shadows threw patterns on the wall and bed, giving the room harsh depth in the dark, making everything seem more surreal. The air in the room was thick with tension – they had left a vast majority of things unsaid. She didn't even know what the hell she was doing there. Or more specifically what he was doing beside her. The quiet in the room was both oppressive and peaceful and she held her breath waiting for him to break it at any moment.

He remained quiet however, rolling onto his left side and shifting weight off of his leg. This also caused him to face her, studying her in the dark. She felt tired, and worn out. Like her thoughts were draining the energy right out of her, leaving a paper shell behind. She was sure she looked every inch of her age tonight, in the cruel semi light of darkness. Her hair was probably awful, pressed against her head, and if she saw her eyes she was sure they were red rimmed and lined more deeply than ever. She didn't even have makeup to hide behind. He didn't say anything though, just tucked his hand under his pillow and rested the other on the bed, just brushing against her hip. She held her breath at the contact – but he didn't move again and she slowly released it. What in the hell was she doing?

A few hours ago she was thinking that she didn't know if she could afford to sustain House's presence in her life. Now he was laying beside her, and she was contemplating if he was more of a comfort or an annoyance. Comfort was winning out. He was still now, and she liked the heat from his hand against her hip. He hadn't tried to sleep with her – well have sex with her, she mentally corrected herself.

She had asked him to stay as a challenge. Which was stupid considering who she was talking to, maybe even a tiny part of her had known, and that's why she did it. She hadn't meant it to be a question about their personal life – not really. Maybe a little. At the time, she thought he would clearly take the out and assume she meant the hospital. He had turned everything around, flipping it high in the air and landing back in the frying pan like a pro. And she was laying wide awake in the middle of the night, next to a man whom she had very nearly given up on. Sleep was tugging at her, she was blinking more slowly as the thoughts completed their circular pattern in her mind. She slid one hand under the covers slowly as she sighed softly. Her hand slipped into his and as she closed her eyes finally, she was aware of him squeezing it softly. They were a history filled with conversations they never shared.

Morning light was harsh and cruel, and it didn't really make anything easier for her as she blinked slowly against it. Her bedroom had eastern exposure, and she hadn't used an alarm clock for years. The sun always woke her, pulling her out of her sleep as it's fingers of light stretched across her skin. She always looked the worst in the morning. The pale light seemed to highlight every flaw about her – crow's feet, a too large nose, the small lines at the corner of her mouth. He was still asleep, his hand heavy on hers as she slipped away from him and rolled out of bed with practiced ease.

He looked older in this light. His hair seemed more gray than brown now, and when had that happened exactly? His personality was so large it almost super imposed itself across his features when she was in the same room as him. She always saw the same cocky, sarcastic youth he had been, over layed on his older features, softening them. She had never seen him asleep – not outside of comas, at any rate. She had expected him to look fragile then, had attributed it to his illness, or his gunshots. Physical weakness. Now she realized it was just his lack of consciousness. The missing force of his personality. His eyes. His voice.

She frowned, realizing she was wasting time staring at him when she needed to be getting ready for work. Her shower didn't wake him – and she never blew her hair dry, so there was little to no morning noise as she dressed and brushed her wet hair before applying her makeup. Even the smell of coffee didn't wake him, and she didn't put her shoes on until just before she left the house, leaving him laying asleep in her bed with another unfinished conversation laying beside him, still warm in the bed.

She was stalking the halls of her hospital today, never in one place too long, as unavailable as she could be while at work. It was an odd role reversal, usually House was the one who went out of his way to avoid her, not the other way around. She didn't even know for sure if he was in yet – if at all – because she had so steadfastly avoided the lobby and his office. The morgue, coma patients rooms and the cafeteria had become off limits as well. She had felt incredibly nervous while on the maternity ward earlier. Not his favorite place, but he'd been there more than a few times for the lounge alone.

She was caught in the x-ray department, checking on the newest MRI machine, obtained mere days ago. Thankfully it was not House himself who caught her. "I never thought I'd see the day." Wilson's voice was amused and annoyed and intrigued, a multi faceted fall of censure.

"What day?" She tried to play stupid – always a wrong move, but what else could she do?

"The day I stepped through the looking glass and suddenly House is the well adjusted one looking for you and you're the psychotic whack job on the verge of a breakdown, practically doing cartwheels to avoid him." Wilson's voice was smug and she sighed inwardly, cursing the new MRI and her desire to check it out.

"I have not been avoiding him – I didn't even know he was in already. At times, I do actually – and I know this may shock you – go out into the hospital I run and check the gears. Occasionally." Her voice was dry as she spoke, and she hoped it was the right combination to throw him off.

"Oh sure." he nodded conversationally and she resorted to mentally cursing again, wanting to pin him against the wall with one of her glares, but unable to.

"What did he need?"

"Well, what he needs has nothing to do with what he wants." She simply arched a brow at his reply, causing him to clear his throat nervously. "I don't know – something about applications and interviews, I think." She nodded in resignation – technically she did need to go over those with him.

"I'll go find him." She spoke like a petulant child, and she kicked herself inwardly for it. Turning quickly, she escaped the room and for the first time that day, took the elevators. Moments later she was outside his office, watching him bouncing his ball from the floor to his cane repeatedly. She frowned – he didn't have a case at the moment, and that was a patented 'contemplative House' move. She didn't knock, simply pressing her against the cool glass and pushing her way into the room uninvited. It was familiar. Routine. She breathed deeply as his attention focused on her sharply.

"It's about time. I've been paging you all morning." She frowned, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her pager to check the battery. Despite her avoidance of him – she had to answer all of her pages – a fact he used to his advantage quite frequently. "Fine. I didn't page you. I just always wanted to say it back to you. I have seven applications as of now, and I'm going through them and weeding out the best. Thought you'd like to help." He shrugged, tossing the ball from hand to hand as he kept his eyes off of her. He kept shifting his balance from left to right and she frowned, confused by his demeanor.

"You. Want my help? Mine." She responded numbly and he nodded, frowning at her for a moment. She shook her head, unsure of what he was up to. "I can't right now I have afternoon meetings."

"What kind of meetings?" His eyes narrowed and he stared at her for a beat before resuming his tossing of the ball.

She glared at him, slightly annoyed before answering. "I'm hiring Chase. There's a senior spot open in the NICU and I thought he'd like it."

"Last time Chase was in the NICU, babies were dying all over the place. Both times." The ball wove through the air, higher and higher each time. Left to right. Right to left. He swayed slightly in time to his throws, his eyes remaining on the ball with occasional glances in her direction.

"Seriously House? Both of those were on your orders. He didn't kill the babies." Left to right. Her eyes tracked his progress as the ball was nearly skimming the ceiling now.

Right to left. "Says you. Half of those baby killing ideas were his -"

"Are you saying he did more work than the others, idea wise?" Left to right. She sank into his chair unwillingly mesmerized by the repetitive motion.

"Yes. Ideas that killed babies." She snorted, breaking his concentration as he missed the ball, sending it thudding to the floor, rolling across the carpet until it stilled at the toes of her black stilettos. She picked it up, cradling it against her carefully, cupping it in one hand and pulling it close to her.

"You aren't going to change my mind, so get over it." She stood, strolling across the room, her body loose with confidence as they eased back into their usual routine. It felt electrifying, and she was enjoying it more than usual, but it was a comforting thrill.

"Fine. Just promise me you won't hire Cameron. She'll be coming on to me even more, talking about how the boss/employee barriers aren't there anymore and we can finally be together. TLA, like totally!" As he spoke his voice escalated into a girlish squeal at the end and she cringed. Her hand cupping the tennis ball extended as she placed it into his own neatly.

"Fine. If you take that vegan chick out of those resumes." She grinned, trapping him neatly as he frowned down at her.

"What the hell, does Wilson run to you with everything?"

"No, her calling to find out more about the job tipped me off, moron." She shook her head and laughed as he reached across his desk and placed three crisp white sheets in her hands. She stared down at it, surprised he had acquiesced so quickly. "Seriously, Honey?"

"Hey I like stripper names. Candy, Bambi, Honey – they just roll off the tongue." He shrugged, delivering the line with ease as she shook her head.

"I'm going to be late." Her hands clenched around the resume, wrinkling it slightly in her damp palms. She turned to leave, her hand stretched out to the door handle – oh, so close to escape-

"You know. If you swing by my place tonight, you can go over those resumes. That way I can call for interviews tomorrow instead of next week." She paused, her hand feeling the cool glass touch of freedom. She didn't look behind her – scared to see his expression. Amused? Satisfied? Nervous? As if.

"Fine. That's not a problem. I should be done around seven – I'll stop by right after." She opened the door quickly, escaping out into the hall like a scared rabbit running from a fox. Her pace didn't relax until she had entered the stairwell, taking refuge in the echoing concrete and metal.