Disclaimer: see first chapter.

A/N: Normally I'm not a feedback whore or anything - I love reviews, but don't usually ask for them because as long as I'm satisfied with what i've written I'm fine. This story however, is like my weak spot - I'm just not that sure on how well it's being taken, so if you could, please leave me a review. I greatly appreciate it.

It was a stupid plan. She had let him corner her at the last minute, longing for escape and receptive to anything that freed her from a situation she should have been enjoying. Or was enjoying too much. She was never really sure.

Never the less, he had caught her and now she was seated on his sofa pouring over applications he more than likely had already gone over and decided who to call already. As she flipped through them she separated them into two piles, based on the tone of cover letters alone. He did not need weak fellows who would agree with him. He also wouldn't have given her these seven if every single one wasn't fully qualified. In the end she set aside four and discarded three.

He peered over her shoulder, ice clinking in the glass of scotch she had declined. "Hey I liked her-"

"Would have been terrible. Everything about her cover letter indicates she idolizes you already-"

"Well, d'uh. Why do you think I liked her?" She glanced over her shoulder, a level glare as she sat properly, knees together and back straight making it difficult for her to see him. Her pencil thin skirt wouldn't allow her to relax, and she had kept her suit jacket on, just in case.

"Do you really want that?" She heard his disgusted sigh and the thump of his cane as he rounded the corner of the couch, lowering himself next to her. He was a good two feet away. She still felt the heat from his skin through the space and layers of expensive linen.

"You just take the fun out of everything, you know?"

"Not everything." She retorted mildly before she could think, placing the last resume in the interview pile and looking up to see his lewd grin.

"True. Some things you can make exceptionally fun." He took a drink after speaking and she rolled her eyes, shifting to the edge of the sofa in preparation of leaving. "Where are you going?" His glass hit the table in front of them with a dull thud and she winced as it started to leave a watermark.

"Home House. You wanted me to look at them and I did. You can call tomorrow and set up interviews." Her voice was tired and she resisted the urge to rub at her eyes like a small child. The mascara marks alone would be a nightmare.

"Did Chase accept the job?"

She nodded briefly and he sat up straighter, placing himself along the edge right next to her. "Did you eat?" His question came out of the blue and she frowned, trying to think of her last meal. She was fairly certain she had grabbed a sandwich from a machine around eleven.

"No. Which is why I'm going home. Where I can cook."

"You can't cook. Can you?" He sounded genuinely surprised and she laughed.

"Yes. There are some things you don't know about me. Now I really should be-"

"Stay." He spoke over her as if she wasn't even speaking and she stared at him for a beat. "Have dinner with me."

A thousand different thoughts curled through her mind, beginning and ending with what in the hell was he up to? They didn't have dinner. Or lunch. Or tea. Or coffee. They had had drinks. Once, and it had ended with her skin pressed against his, clinging with sweat and guilt and ownership. "You're going to cook?" She spoke with disbelief and he laughed out loud.

"Hell no. But I can order something. Or alternately I do actually have food, and you could display your skills for me." The last part of that sounded incredibly dirty and she was sure he meant it to. She stood slowly, aware that he was sitting unnaturally still, watching her. Unbuttoning her suit jacket, she draped it across the back of his couch. On her way to his kitchen, she kicked her shoes in the direction of the door. One made it, but the other skidded left, veering towards his tv.

"My definition of food is vastly different from yours." She muttered as she stood in front of his open fridge. He had some cheese, and she saw hamburger in his freezer. She was searching the cupboards for sauce when she stumbled upon the lasagna noodles. Perfect. She pulled everything out she needed and turned the stove on. He stood in the doorway watching her, leaning against the frame casually. "Here, grate this." She held the cheese out and spoke in a no nonsense tone that expected obeying.

An hour later they were seated at the kitchen table, easting lasagna with rolls she had found buried in the freezer – the instant kind that required little to no skill. He ate like he was starving and she watched him, half amused and half disgusted at his lack of table manners. "Who knew you could seriously cook?" He spoke around a roll and she watched in horror, pushing her own food around on her plate listlessly.

"Don't chew with your mouth open." She spoke automatically and he rolled his eyes, taking a sip of water and pushing his now empty plate aside.

"Yes Mom." He leaned back, watching as she picked at her own plate, his eyes darting from her hand to her face and back to the kitchen in that order. "So." He stated awkwardly and she smiled in genuine amusement, she loved to see him at a loss for words or uncomfortable. It didn't happen often.

"So what?" She picked up her own empty plate, leaning over the table and taking his into the kitchen as well. When she came back, she stood awkwardly by the table, her hand trailing along it's edge while her eyes searched for some sort of escape.

"Are you planning your route?" His voice startled her from her thoughts and she shook her head quickly.

"No. Yes. Maybe." She faltered as he laughed lightly. She was gripped by a sudden fear – this was not a familiar setting for her and House. And every time she stepped outside those boundaries with him, bad things happened. She slept with him, figuratively or literally. She let him in, and he was like a four year old in a china store – things just got broken. "I should go." She felt like she had to force the words – push them from her chest up past her lips – like a verbal bulimic, expelling them out.

"Yeah, you sound real sure about that." He stood with the aid of his cane and he moved closer to her slowly. She moved much more quickly when she backed away. He frowned watching her and his grip tightened on the handle of his cane, turning his skin white around the edges. "Why are you afraid?" His question was soft and she felt it stabbing into her swiftly, an accusatory lance through her already too thin skin. She bit her lip, meeting his gaze dead on and seeing the confusion there.

"Experience." Her voice was softer, the word rolling off her tongue gently, harmlessly she thought. The pain hit his eyes a fraction of a second later, and the word rose up between them like a weapon. She didn't try to fix it though – sometimes the truth was the worst weapon – and one he had used against her again and again. She wouldn't feel guilty. Not for the truth. He had glanced down at his hand, and she did too – his knuckles looked blue now – and she felt the guilt curl up beside her heart, sitting just below it and making her feel like she could throw up.

"It's a good reason." His voice was rough and she glanced away – unable to take the look in his eyes. She didn't want him to feel guilty. She didn't want an apology or understanding. She wanted him to keep being his usual self so she could keep pushing him away and not feel like she was missing something. "Cuddy.." His free hand was reaching toward her and she watched it, frozen in place. He seemed to be moving in slow motion and she watched him, thinking of all the time she had to move, run away, escape. She remained rooted in place however, and when his hand touched hers, she didn't flinch or run. She stood there, with an unexpected need to cry lodged in her chest painfully. Her nose tingled from the repressed tears and she couldn't swallow easily anymore.

"Please.." Her voice was a weak whisper, and his hand tightened at the sound. Her eyes felt brighter than sunshine when they met his and it hurt. "Don't."

"Don't you think we should-"

"No." She pulled back from him abruptly, like someone drowning coming up for a burst of air. Suddenly violent and tragic. She moved so quickly she thought she might blur at the edges as she pulled her coat back on, practically running to the door and shoving her foot into one shoe as she limped awkwardly around looking for the other.

"Cuddy – you can't just leave-"

"Watch me." She finally found her other shoe, and braced herself against the wall as she slid it onto her naked foot. Grabbing her purse, she turned to find him blocking the door, six foot two of immovable man. "Please House- just for once, just let it go." She was pleading with him, her heart rate thundering along in her throat as she tried to force the feelings down. She wanted to hyperventilate, but that was so weak.

"I can't." His voice was apologetic and it scared her more than anything else he could have said.

"Why not?" Her inner child was petulant, she crossed her arms and resisted the urge to kick his cane out from under him.

"We let go too much." He sighed, stepping aside and moving closer to her. She could feel the heat from his body as he stood next to her, his breath on her ear. "Haven't we left enough unfinished?"

It was fight or flight, her baser instincts at work. She couldn't escape so only one option was left. Attack. "So what – now suddenly you feel the urge to discuss our feelings and hold hands and tell all of our deep dark secrets? Funny that it seems to be you pushing me, and not the other way around, House. You want to talk? Fine. Let's start with our childhoods. I'm sure you have a fascinating story to share and I can tell you all about how I was never quite good enough for my parents, how I became an over achiever and we can talk about how your father-"

"Stop it." His words were quiet and she felt guilt burning in the back of her throat, like an acidic bile just waiting to eat away at her. She blinked slowly and she felt as if the weight of the world was upon her. She wasn't strong enough for this. "Why are you running so hard?"

"Because of you." She laughed hollowly and he frowned at her. "What? That's not a good enough reason? We've spent twenty years avoiding these conversations and now you fire some employees and get a new guitar and you're changing and trying to take me with you. I don't know House, maybe you're ready. Maybe you've been waiting for this moment, and it's the absolute perfect thing for you. I'm not." The tears were building up – a constant pressure behind her eyes, and a constant ache in her chest.

"I didn't think-"

"When do you ever?" She broke across him, like a wave of exasperation and exhaustion. "I spend more time and energy on you than you can ever imagine. I have no social life, no.. anything outside of work. You push and you poke and you take over everything until I can't see anything else! I've spent twenty years waiting House, and when I finally say screw it – it's just not worth it anymore, you finally catch up. I just- don't make me do something about this right now – because you will not like my choice." She knew the hurt was leaking out, bleeding between them onto the wooden floor, but she couldn't stop it – couldn't apply pressure to the wound that had been there for so long. She should have bled to death by now.

His eyes were watching her, soft and not as intensely blue as usual, and his hand came up to her shoulder, a warm comfort there, but he didn't attempt to draw her any closer and she didn't try to bury her head in his shoulder and forget all of the feelings inside of her screaming in warning. "Okay. I won't push." He choked out the words, and she knew that it was so difficult for him to say. His instincts were telling him one thing and she was telling him another.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft and she pulled her purse higher onto her shoulder, standing there uncertainly as she wished that things were different and this night had ended much more pleasantly. She wished that their years of history didn't lay between them, like some insurmountable wall, huge in size and width. She sighed softly, accepting that it couldn't be scaled – not right now. "I'll see you at work?"

"Bright and early, as usual." He quipped lightly and she forced a smile that she didn't feel. "Just.. give me time, please? Don't go anywhere before.." His voice was uncertain and she watched him solemnly. It was a rare sight – House was never this unsure or.. soft. She didn't remark on it though, she merely nodded numbly, unable to speak for fear that she would take everything back. She couldn't take it back. His hand brushed past her hair lightly as she walked past him and out the door. She felt the touch all the way to her car, even hours later laying in her bed she could almost feel the warmth of his skin in her hair. Tears finally seeped out, hot and painful against her face. She felt weak, as though she had been beaten. Exhausted by the emotional drain, as sleep eluded her again for the second night in a row.