14.

Her grand resolution to remain strong, and to deal with the issues she was currently facing in a responsible, productive manner, lasted exactly eight days.

It was a Saturday, and she went to the grocery store, and the dry cleaners, and a hair appointment - took care of all her usual weekend errands. In the afternoon she went for a long walk around her neighbourhood, and while it wasn't exactly her usual workout, still it was something, and it felt good to get outside in the fresh air and stretch her legs.

In the evening she made herself a simple dinner of steamed rice and vegetables and ate it while watching the news. After that she went to her bedroom to find the novel she was currently reading, because there wasn't anything good on TV, and since the hospital hadn't rung with any pressing disasters requiring her presence, she had nothing better to do.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, however, her eyes fell on it. The shirt. Lying neatly folded on top of her dresser now, as it had since she'd washed it the previous weekend.

She stopped in her tracks and just looked at it for a moment, the novel forgotten, pulling her bottom lip absently between her teeth.

Thirty minutes later she was knocking on his door.

"Hi," she greeted him when it opened.

He stood there looking at her, his expression neutral. "Hi."

She walked in past him, not bothering to wait for an invitation that might never come. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." She smiled faintly, taking in his attire which consisted of pyjama pants and a t-shirt even older and rattier than his usual fare.

"Got a pair of Swedish twins hiding in the closet. Does that count?"

She ignored that. "Here, I brought you your shirt back."

"How thoughtful of you." He took it from her with a smirk. "And it's clean, too."

"That's what happens when you wash things."

"What, no ironing service?"

"I didn't think you even knew what an iron was."

He tossed the shirt towards the nearest piece of furniture. When it failed to land properly, sliding off the back of the couch to the floor, he simply shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. "I actually have an iron," he said over his shoulder. "Wilson left it here after he finally got his own place a few months ago. I think he was trying to tell me something."

"Can't imagine what," she muttered, and trailed after him - though only once she'd picked up the fallen shirt, given it a shake, and left it over the arm of the couch.

In the kitchen he was standing against the centre island over a half-eaten pizza, munching on a slice. He shoved the open box towards her. She waved him off.

"Thanks, I've eaten." As she watched, he picked off a piece of sausage and turned to poke it through the bars of the rat cage. She frowned. "That's hygienic."

"Planning on extending your reign of terror to my humble abode? This isn't hospital grounds - I can make out with the damn rat if I want."

"Look, I know I've been a little..."

"Insane? Loopy? Batshit-crazy?"

"Focused."

"Focused is what you usually are. You've gone and ramped it up to 11." He shrugged unconcernedly and took another bite of pizza.

"You're just going to have to give me a break. Much like the many, many times over the years I've done the same for you."

"The problem with that is, you're the compassionate, caring authority figure. I prefer to play the callous, uncaring rogue. It's much less trouble, and it gets me way more trim."

She made a face. He really could be disgusting sometimes. "I didn't come here to -'

"We both know why you came."

She waited, and when he didn't elaborate on that, she sighed discontentedly. "If you want, I'll just go, get out of your hair."

He considered her for a moment, then shrugged. "You don't eat my food, you don't drink my beer. You're a cheap date, I'll give you that much."

"Really know how to flatter a girl, don't you?"

"You do my laundry, you pick up after me," he listed off, craning his head to look out in the other room.

"One shirt?"

"It starts with a shirt, next thing you know, you're sorting through piles of my dirty socks in a little French maid outfit." He paused, staring off into space. "I just went to the happiest place."

"Well I hope you took a mental snapshot," she drawled, "because that is never going to happen."

He shook his head. "It's a nesting instinct. You won't be able to help yourself."

"And where exactly does the French maid thing come in?"

"It doesn't. It'd just be really hot."

"Never going to happen," she repeated.

"You can keep telling yourself that, sure."

She shook her head, sobering suddenly. "And what if I don't have a nesting instinct? I'm starting to think I won't be very good at this motherhood thing." She looked away with a self-conscious laugh.

"Here we go." He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "When did I give you the idea I cared about your emotional issues? Never should have let you in, even if you are going to put out."

"Hey," she started to protest, but in one fluid move he tossed his pizza crust back in the box, reached over to hook a finger in the belt loop of her jeans, and yanked her towards him.

"You know you are, why bother denying it?" He was smug and over-confident, and she put up her hands to push him away but by then he was already kissing her and all thought of opposition fled.

His hands were still greasy and his mouth was pizza-flavoured and he was being such an ass - it should have been disgusting. But there was clearly something very wrong with her, because it was anything but. Her hormones flared as she kissed him back hungrily, her hands moving from his chest to make fists in his hair. She found herself pulling him closer, arching into him and wrapping her leg around his, sucking on his tongue and biting at his lips, the lust-filled kiss almost more of a battle than an embrace.

When he drew away he looked as rumpled and turned on as she felt.

"Come on," he said, moving his hand from her ass to grab her wrist. "I'd throw you down right here, but Steve's watching and I don't think it'd be good for his mental health."

"You have really bad garlic breath, you know," she complained, even as she let him pull her along.

"I'll brush my teeth later, Mom."

She glared at the back of his head, annoyed as hell but at the same time eager for what was about to happen. When they reached the bedroom she pulled out of his grasp. "So I think I remember you saying something about liking it when I order you around. Well how about this for an order - lie down, and shut up for once in your life." She gave him a push towards the bed. He went down willingly, smirking the whole time.

"Yes Ma'am," he said.

She was stretched out on her stomach, hugging a pillow, enjoying the sleepy, sated feeling of a nice afterglow. She sighed, listening to the sound of him moving around out in the other rooms, turning off lights, using the bathroom, until he reappeared in the doorway.

He spoke casually. "You spending the night?"

Well she sure as hell wasn't moving, she thought. It was the weekend - she didn't have to be practical tonight. All that came out, though, was, "It's Saturday."

"Sunday, now."

"Whatever," she mumbled. With her eyes closed she could still tell when he turned out one last light, sending the bedroom into darkness, and then when he lowered himself onto the bed. Another moment passed as the mattress dipped and he arranged himself and the bedclothes to his satisfaction.

Then there was silence, broken only by the sound of quiet breathing. She felt herself falling towards sleep and the next thing she knew...

It was early morning and when she opened her eyes she lay still for a while, taking in her surroundings. This was the first time she'd woken up in House's bed after spending the night. Beside her he was still asleep, sprawled out across the mattress, his long frame taking up most of the bed, leaving her over against the edge in danger of falling off. He obviously wasn't used to sharing, she noted with a wry smile that turned into a yawn.

She shifted and stretched a little, put a hand to her stomach and considered how she was feeling, as she did every morning now. A little queasy, she decided, but not too bad. Of course it would be worse once she got up. Being Sunday, however, she didn't actually have to get up. And it was nice and cosy, if not exactly spacious, here in bed, and she found herself dozing off again after a while.

The next time she woke up House was still taking up the whole bed, only this time he was stretched out on his back, his mouth open wide, and was snoring. She snickered softly to herself, and wondered briefly if he had a video recorder stashed around the place somewhere - footage like this would make for good blackmail material.

There was no going back to sleep now - she was wide awake and he was making too much noise, anyway - so she eased herself up slowly, taking her time to avoid a head-rush.

A few minutes later she was in the shower, just standing and letting the water run over her head and down her back, leaning with one forearm against the tile. It was warm and soothing and peaceful - until the door opened and House entered unannounced.

"Good morning," she called after a moment when he hadn't said anything.

His gruff reply was muffled by the sound of the water running and what she assumed was a toothbrush. She had to move out of the spray in a hurry then, as it suddenly ran hot. "Hey," she protested, poking her head around the shower curtain. "I'm getting scalded, do you mind?" As she watched, he shrugged and turned off the faucet and she tested the water gingerly with her hand as it slowly returned to a more reasonable temperature.

The next thing she knew he was stepping in behind her, crowding her in the narrow tub and then physically moving her out of the way with an arm around her middle. "Gotta rinse," he said by way of explanation as he angled himself under the shower head and opened his mouth.

He spat a mouthful of foam and water and she moved her foot out of the way just in time. "This isn't a very big shower, you know," she pointed out.

His arm still around her waist holding her in place, he deposited his toothbrush on the ledge next to the shampoo and then turned his attention to her, his hands moving up her ribcage to cover her breasts.

"All the better to feel you up," he said.

She laughed softly, leaning back against his chest. "House," she murmured.

"Can't help it," he spoke in her ear, "even with this pasty-face morning sickness thing going, you've still got a slammin' bod."

She sighed, the warmth of the water a pleasant counterpoint to the warmth of his body pressed against hers and his hands as they explored. "Well, enjoy it while it lasts."

"It's almost criminal. Weight gain and stretch marks... the inevitable sagging..."

"I guess I'm assuming it'll be worth it."

"And even if it isn't, there's always plastic surgery to fall back on."

"You always go for the easy answer."

"You think suffering is always noble? Sometimes it's just stupid. Sometimes it's just stubborn refusal to accept reality."

"Well you're the genius, I guess."

"Could be I'm the voice of experience. Could be I'm just well-adjusted."

"Right. I'm the mental case," she drawled, turning to face him. He ran his hands up over her hair, tipping her head back under the spray, and lowered his face to kiss her lightly.

She turned her face down again, leaning into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his waist. Even as he continued to touch her, hands sliding over her slick skin, it wasn't about sex. Or it was, but there was no urgency to it, just the unspoken fact hanging between them that it wasn't going to happen here and now, not when standing-up-in-the-shower sex wasn't a possibility. And it was Sunday morning anyway, there was no rush, they could crawl back into bed after this for as long as they wanted.

It was an achingly intimate moment, possibly even more so than the purely sexual encounters they had shared so far. She stood there in his arms, enjoying it for one breath, two, with the shower beating down, muting sounds, everything warm and peaceful, until it started to be too much. She reached up to kiss him again, surprising him with the suddenness of it, but he soon responded and she reached behind her blindly to turn off the water.

She woke from another short catnap to find him sitting up against the headboard, playing idly with the ends of her still-damp hair.

"It's shorter, isn't it?" he said when she looked up at him.

She blinked at him, still not quite awake. "I... yeah, had a haircut yesterday." As she moved to sit up next to him, pulling the covers up with her, he shook a box of cereal at her.

"Breakfast?"

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand to find it was past eleven. She took the box from him, if only to stop him rattling it under her nose. "You never did progress much beyond grade school, did you?"

"What?"

"Cheerios?"

He shrugged. "I was all out of Froot Loops."

She stifled a snort of amusement. This was just how her relationship with him was going to progress, she realised - wisecracks and crumbs in the bed. Not that it was a relationship, she reminded herself. But if not, then what was it?

No, they'd agreed, it wasn't a relationship, but it was as close as she'd come for longer than she cared to think about.

It was a depressing thought, and she tried to take her mind off it by digging her hand into the box and pulling out a small handful. Uncivilised as it was, it was possible he'd put more thought into it than simply whatever was easiest to grab from the kitchen - dry cereal was actually food she could stomach easily. She dropped a few Cheerios in her mouth - sweet, bland, crunchy. It was children's cereal and, coincidentally, typical bachelor fare. The kind of thing she wouldn't normally touch.

Froot Loops and Cheerios - this was her future. It all seemed so foreign, what was to come, the bedtime stories and milk moustaches, birthday parties and report cards.

"I never wanted kids, you know," she said soberly.

"I never wanted a lot of things," he huffed.

"I mean I guess I had this idea that someday I'd probably get married and start a family - but if having a baby was something I really wanted to do, I would have made it happen no matter what my circumstances, wouldn't I? Which means I never really wanted to."

"Wanted to enough, obviously."

"I guess I didn't know just how much until the choice was thrown in my lap. So to speak."

"And you made it. Well done. Did you want a round of applause?"

"I didn't give you a say in the matter," she pointed out.

He gave her an irritated look and took back the cereal box. "You're doing what you want to do, and since I don't see your father standing behind me with a shotgun, I'm doing what I want to do."

It was true, she had told him outright that he could walk away, wash his hands of the whole matter. He had chosen not to, in a non-committal sort of way. And now here they were, and suddenly she wanted him to be less vague. Her hand moved to her stomach as she spoke. "So you do want this? The baby?"

He didn't reply straight away. "I can't give you the answer you're looking for."

"You don't know what I'm looking for," she began, but further protests died on her lips, because maybe he did know. She found herself backing down, annoyed at herself and him. "Forget it, I shouldn't have asked."

But it was too late, he was more than willing to tell her.

"You want that picture in your head of a perfect little family - the one that'll tell you when everything's just the way it's supposed to be. And you're trying to stick me into that image, the one marked 'daddy dearest'. Now hands up everyone who thinks that's going to work out well."

She was shaking her head at him. "You're wrong, that's not what I'm doing at all. If I wanted a 'perfect little family' I wouldn't be stupid enough to think I could have that with you. No, I know exactly what I want from you, House - and since I already got what I came for, I think I'll be going now."

"No, please stay, we're having such a swell time."

She ignored him as she threw back the covers and stalked around the room gathering up her clothes, not particularly caring that he was staring at her the whole time. Let him, she thought. Let him get a good eyeful, because he wasn't going to be seeing it again any time soon.

"Got a busy day ahead of you?" he inquired with mock politeness as she dressed hurriedly. "Of course you do - places to go, people to see..."

"I do have plans to meet some friends for coffee later on, if that's what you mean. I know this might come as a surprise to you, but most people actually have friends, and that's plural, as in more than one."

"So, Miss Social Butterfly," he said, speaking around a mouthful of cereal, "what do you tell them when you're not actually drinking coffee?"

"That I happen to like herbal tea? Why do you care?"

"Whatever big fat lie works for you."

"It's the truth - but so what if I have to lie to protect my privacy?" she demanded as she shoved her legs into her jeans. "You'll lie through your teeth for absolutely no good reason at all, just for the hell of it. I don't see where you get off preaching to me about it."

"I don't care - why would I care what you tell your little working girl's sewing circle? But you obviously do care, or you wouldn't be so defensive. Did I hit a nerve?"

"Oh, very astute. Who'd ever think I wouldn't like lying to people I care about, people who expect better from me? And there's another difference between me and you - no one who knows you would ever dream of expecting more from you. And god forbid you ever surprise any of us."

With that she grabbed her shoes and left the room, stopping by the front door just long enough to shove them on her feet. He didn't come out after her. But then, it wasn't as if she expected him to.