Pictures at an Exhibition
Chapter 7

The ride back to Princeton was awkward and silent. House hopped on the bike wordlessly, passing Cuddy's helmet to her as she climbed aboard behind him. She wasn't sure how to treat him; how to touch him—their earlier causal intimacy had evaporated and left her grieving for it. Cuddy placed her hands gingerly on either side of him, feeling House tense at the contact. A moment passed before he relaxed slightly, pulling her arms tightly around his middle, before starting the engine. Miles passed before Cuddy felt him relax beneath her embrace, urging her to nudge closer to him.

Cuddy focused on the farms and fields; the orchards in full bloom and the cloudless sky above them. When she breathed in she consumed eau d'ballpark: the unique combination of sweat, beer and popcorn that clung to both of them. She felt her back getting hot in the sun, remembering that she had not reapplied sunscreen before getting back on the bike. She realized it was too late by now, and her back was likely a mass of reddened skin for which she would soon pay dearly.

They pulled up at her place, House removing his helmet; his eyes unreadable. Cuddy dismounted and returned the helmet to House. House smiled, slightly; shyly. "I…it won't fit my…" he gestured to his head. "Keep it," he continued, recovering from his sudden embarrassment. "You never know when one of your patients might get violent; come in handy."

"Yeah," she responded lightly, sighing at their return to a more comfortable place. "Or a doctor…"

"Well, there is that…" Cuddy was touched that he had obviously bought it for her; the odd gift suggesting something vague and lovely to her, although she wasn't certain just what that was. She regarded him; his ruggedly handsome face now tanned from their day in the sun, and dripping with perspiration (as she was sure hers was) accentuated the unique color of his eyes. There was none of the earlier mirth in them; only hesitation and melancholy.

"Wanna come in for a cold drink. You look like you could use it." She tried to keep the mood light, slightly seductive, ignoring his body language, which told her that he wanted to get away as fast as possible. Certainly not to come in for a beer. She turned towards the house not waiting for his response. He could follow or not: his choice.

"I'm not very good company, so I think…" he called out to her, gloomily. She didn't wait for him to finish. House wiped his arm across his forehead, watching her go. "Better take care of that sunburn, Cuddy! Scarlet woman doesn't even begin to describe…"

"I have aloe inside. But it's mainly my back, I think. Can't reach all the way around…"

"Do you have real beer…like in a bottle?" His voice growled just over her left shoulder. "Aloe's slimy. It better be great beer and really, really cold, if I'm going to get my hands and clothes all gooey with that stuff. Gross."

"No….Gross is that t-shirt." She wrinkled her nose, teasing. It did smell awful—a combination of sweat, cigars and beer.

"I don't have to stay if 'eau d' baseball' offends you. Then your burn will peel and it'll itch and then you'll be oh, so sorry, you shooed me away…" Cuddy was delighted to hear the mirth creep back into his voice, almost despite himself.

"Fine. But the shirt goes. Feel free to use my washing machine or stick it in the bathtub until you're ready to leave, but it is NOT going anywhere near my furniture!"

"Hey, you're the one who needs the first aid. You invited me in. Some hostess—and they call me 'surly…" his voice trailed off, point made, softened by the grace note of gentle teasing behind his words. He dutifully removed his tee-shirt, holding it gingerly away from himself. "Washing machine through there?" He pointed dramatically towards her bedroom.

"Yeah. You wish. Gimme." She grabbed the shirt from him, momentarily forgetting his unsteadiness, nearly knocking him over into the coffee table. He caught himself, using the cane to recover his balance. "Sorry." Her eyes turned serious, lending truth to her words.

It had been a long time since Cuddy had seen House's bare torso. The layers he normally wrapped himself in suggested the illusion of fragility in his physique. But illusion it was. His upper body was muscular and lean—far from frail. His abdomen had only the early beginnings middle-agedness, reinforced by the salt and pepper hairs that had begun to find their way to his otherwise auburn chest hair. Cuddy disappeared into the laundry room, while House grabbed two beers from the refrigerator. "Niiice…" he commented under his breath, the woman had good taste in refreshment at least: straight from a local microbrewery. Perfect.

House handed her a beer and popped the latches on his own bottle, taking a deep swig. "So where's this aloe. Don't want to let that burn set in for too long. Didn't anyone tell you that unprotected sun causes skin cancer?" he scolded.

"I'll keep that in mind." She handed him a tall bottle of greenish-blue gel.

"Mind if we do this sitting down? My leg would appreciate it and all…"

"Just don't get any on my sofa." Cuddy led House to the Victorian styled sofa; she sat facing away from him.

"Here," he said, moving her ponytail out of the way, "hold this out of the way." Cuddy raised her arms to grab her ponytail from House, the pain in her shoulders from the burn causing her to hiss as she did so.

"Ow."

"I haven't done anything yet. Don't be such a baby."

"Ha. I seem to recall something about pots and kettles. Anyway, that wasn't you I was 'ow-ing' at. My shoulders seem to have gotten a bit too much sun too."

"And your chest. Didn't you put any sunscreen on at all? What was that bottle you waved at me before we set out this morning. I know it said sunscreen… Problem is that you have to actually put the stuff on…you know…open bottle, pour…"

"House! Are you going to do this or not?" She was getting annoyed at his teasing, which had gone from gentle to not so much.

"Fine. I'm just sayin'…" House poured some of the gel into his hand. He recalled once using real aloe…a real plant on his own burn when he was a kid; was fascinated by the plant's healing power. Cuddy tensed in anticipation of his hand coming in contact with her very, very sore back. She was not looking forward to it.

House's voice took on a seriousness that Cuddy could only describe as full-on doctor mode. "I'm going to put some of this on your left shoulder. It will feel cold but nice." Cuddy smiled at the unnecessary explanation. She felt the coolness of the aloe hit her shoulder, causing her to sigh. House's gentle hands applied the gel first to her left shoulder and across her back to the right. As the burning in her back subsided she relished his expert touch. She almost felt like purring.

"I'm going to undo your halter tie. Don't want to get it all yucky. You'll never get it undone…"

"No way you're..." She was snapped from her languorousness, suddenly aware—too aware—of what his ministrations had done to her, inside and out. It was too easy; it felt too good; it had to stop. Now.

House removed his hands. "You won't be able to…"

"Doesn't matter. This top is not coming off."

"Not off. Untied. At the neck. I am crushed at the suggestion that I would take advantage… I am a doctor, you know…" he protested. She remembered how he had been the past spring—a year earlier, when she had asked him to help give her fertility injections. She had been surprised then, too: the gentleness, the professionalism. He was right.

"Fine." She waited. When he made no further move, she sighed, undoing the tie herself, letting the halter fall to the front.

"You know this isn't easy for me either," he admitted suddenly.

"What? Oh, yeah, I know, goopy hands and all."

"That's not what I'm saying." He stopped short of saying anything else as he concentrated on covering the burned areas with aloe. He paused, examining his work for a moment. "I need a towel."

"Kitchen, by the sink. You're done?" She turned to face him, but he was halfway to the kitchen. "What about my chest…my…?" He returned, drying his hands on a blue and brown dish towel.

"Figured you'd probably want to keep that honor for yourself. I didn't want to presume…to be accused of…"

"House," her voice was tinged with regret for impugning his earlier motives regarding her halter top. "Look. I can barely move my arms without intense pain. My skin feels so tight, I think it's going to crack if I even try to do this myself. Can you…?"

House averted his eyes, momentarily, before taking another swig from the beer bottle. He held out his hand for the aloe. "Here. Turn to face me." He drew close to her as this time he applied the slippery gel directly to her collarbone from the bottle. It tickled her as he drew the green line across her skin, causing her to shiver. "Too cold?"

Cuddy shook her head as she held the front of her halter top over her breasts with her right forearm. "Your upper arms are pretty crispy, too." He used his thumb to spread the aloe over her upper chest, pausing for a moment before gently sweeping it to the edges of the burned area—where it met her top, carefully avoiding anything overtly provocative. She closed her eyes, taking in the sensuality of his care, absorbing his touch through her pores and into her soul. She opened her eyes as he finished, wishing he hadn't stopped quite so soon, knowing that anything more or prolonged would be something else entirely.

Her eyes opened into his gaze: he was watching her serenely, silently, intensely. His eyes raked over her face, a mix of apprehension, bashfulness and an unmistakable desire. He looked away finally, breaking the moment as he grabbed the towel to wipe the aloe from his hands. "My…" He gestured towards the laundry room. "It should be…" He stood, reaching for his cane.

"House, it needs to go into the dryer. I'll… House…" He was pacing, not sure what he should be doing; what she expected him to do. What she wanted; what she didn't. He had promised her the safety of a casual date with a friend. And at this moment he felt anything but safe for her. Cuddy watched him struggle, not quite knowing what had set him off. On his next circuit, she stepped into his path, stilling him with a touch to his hand.

"Sorry, I… I should probably go. It's warm out. I'll get my shirt some other time. I…"

"House." Her voice was soft, it conspired with her touch to drown him in sensation. Her hand moved to his face, bringing his eyes to meet hers. "Thank you. For this." Her hand lingered. It was sweet torture, every bit of his self control remain still. Cuddy moved her hands to his bare chest, stroking the soft skin at his collarbone. She couldn't embrace him, not with her sunburned chest and a layer of aloe between them, but she willed him to understand, that permission was granted and he need only act on it. If he wanted to. And when.

Finally he understood as her steady gaze and unnerving touch penetrated through years of denial. The kiss was chaste, but left no doubt as to intent. House lowered his head brushing his lips first across her forehead and coming to rest, finally, on hers.