15.

House was bored. It was Monday, he didn't have a case to work on, and Wilson, who did have work to do, was actually off doing it. Cancer patients, he thought, were so inconvenient.

So he was bored, and he couldn't even kick back in his office, because although Chase was working in the clinic, and Foreman was off somewhere else - hopefully tracking down a juicy new medical mystery for him - Cameron was hanging around, answering his mail. Which meant he had to vacate the premises or else she'd be trying to get him to do the things requested of him in his mail.

At a loss, he sought refuge with his one true friend. At least coma guy never hogged the remote, or talked when he was trying to watch something. He could watch his soaps in peace for once.

But he found the lives and loves of television doctors weren't holding his attention the way they usually did. Which, he conceded, might have had something to do with the fact that he was dealing with a soap opera storyline all his own these days. Between accidental pregnancies and carrying on illicit affairs with sultry hospital administrators he didn't have to look to a television screen for his daily dose of melodrama.

He hadn't seen Cuddy since she'd stormed out the previous morning, which was no doubt a good thing. He didn't know what to expect from her lately - one day she was ignoring him in favour of her precious hospital, the next she was showing up on his doorstep. And he really hated that. The Cuddy he was used to was predictable, sometimes annoyingly so when he was trying to get away with something - and even then, the fact that she did, on occasion, get the better of him was something he counted on.

Ever since she'd shown up in his office with her big announcement, however, that had all changed. It was like being on a rollercoaster in the dark - there was no way to tell which way it was going to go next, and the only thing to do was sit there and ride it out and hope the track didn't suddenly come to an end and send the car flying out into space.

Not that he was being melodramatic about it. He just liked a good metaphor every once in a while.

"Hard at work, I see," came a voice from the door.

Staring off into space actually constituted working for him at times; he got a lot of thinking done that way. Not this time, but then she'd probably guessed that. He looked over at her standing in the doorway and decided he really needed to find another coma patient with a TV and private room to hang out in. Too many people knew about this one.

"Can we talk?" she said.

Apparently they could, since she came in and closed the door without waiting for an answer. Maybe, he thought, she could carry on the entire conversation by herself and he wouldn't have to say anything.

He looked up at her, keeping his face blank.

The next words out of her mouth were: "You were right."

And it was a whole new ballgame - he couldn't stay quiet in the face of that.

"You were right," he echoed. "The three little words every man wants to hear. So, tell me, what was I right about? I'll give you a hint - the answer you're looking for is 'everything, you brilliant man, you'."

She pursed her lips at him. "You were right, I was having expectations of you."

"Oh that. Well, the four little words every man wants to say are 'I told you so'."

"Insofar as I want you to be happy about the baby, at least," she went on. "But so what? I haven't forced you into anything so far - I know I can't force you into that."

"Apology accepted."

"I'm not apologising. In fact, I'm glad it's out in the open." She was talking with her hands, he observed. The more she did that, the more worked up she was getting. She was pacing a little, too, turning back and forth in the small space by the foot of the bed. He watched her increasingly agitated movements as she spoke. "You know what we've been doing, don't you? We've been using sex as an avoidance tactic. We're just using each other, period."

"That was the point, last time I checked. And since when do you mind, Miss Non-Involvement?"

"Since I realised this can't go on. It's not healthy - and I know it's not, but I'm doing it anyway because... because it's you."

He blinked. "It is?"

"And it isn't real. Wanting to be with you - it's just the situation. It's messing with our heads and our emotions... I'm overflowing with hormones and it's natural that I want to be close to you right now. I just can't deal with it, though. I can't! It's too much - I cannot handle sleeping with you and dealing with this pregnancy, and everything going on here at work - all while I'm facing the prospect of everybody finding out, which of course they will eventually no matter what I do. God, and then the gossip mill will be running wild and I'll have to figure out how to explain to the board why I'm having your baby - there's going to be questions I have to find answers to, my professional reputation to think about, and I still haven't even started -"

"Breathe!" he interjected sharply, stopping the verbal onslaught in its tracks. "Take a breath or you're going to pass out, and I'm not hauling you up off the floor if you do."

She stared back at him unhappily, panting slightly in the aftermath of her outburst.

He gave her an appraising look. "Nice. As meltdowns go, that was a good one. Really, top notch. I'm surprised you held out this long, been waiting for Mt Cuddy to blow for weeks."

"I was overdue," she agreed ruefully. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming herself down. "I meant it though."

"To be honest, I blocked most of it out - I've got a natural auditory filter that kicks in whenever you hit a certain register." He smirked at her, she frowned at him. It could have been any exchange they'd ever had. Except that it wasn't, due to one pertinent detail. "I think I caught the part about no more sleepovers, though," he added.

"Yeah. It has to stop."

"Have we reached the self-denial stage of the guilt cycle then? Wondered when that one was going to roll around."

"Don't make this difficult." She spoke quietly, her hands still at her sides. No agitation now.

He didn't like the way she was looking at him. He needed to regroup. So he let it go for now, and did what she asked - made it easy on her. "I think I can control myself, maybe even manage to stop groping you at random," he said. "We'll just see if you can do the same."

She rolled her eyes. "Gee, I'll do my best."

"So... this thing, you want to blame it on the hormones, right?"

"The meltdown, or the..."

"The random groping," he clarified.

"Right. Well, that's my excuse. You don't actually have one."

"I call sexual frustration." He shrugged. "You are pretty hot."

"Well, we've already established you were only in it for the sex." The way she was looking at him as she said it was almost affectionate. She glanced at her watch then, a clear signal.

He looked at his watch and thought, lunchtime.

"I should go," she said, right on cue. "I have a meeting. I guess I'll see you later," she said in that same tolerant tone.

He levered himself up out of his chair and moved with her to the door, waiting till she was out in the hall before saying loudly, "I mean it, no more booty calls! I can't keep up, I'm only human!"

He brushed past her, knowing without turning around that she was giving him her super-mega-death-glare, while up and down the corridor a few people looked on curiously. He ignored them and simply enjoyed the burn of Cuddy's evil eye on the back of his head. It was better than nothing, after all.

He was sitting outside when Wilson arrived. He sat down across from House, put down his coffee cup and tupperware lunch and raised his eyebrows at House's tray. It was, he had to admit, kind of full.

"You're not the one eating for two, you know," Wilson said.

"It's comfort food," he replied, forking up some mashed potatoes.

"Why do you need comforting? Has Foreman been taking over the whiteboard again?"

"I've been dumped."

Wilson paused at that. "Dumped? By... who?"

"Cuddy," he casually informed his confused friend around a mouthful of food. The meatloaf had definitely been a mistake but the potatoes were nothing to complain about. He chewed and waited for the reaction.

"What do you mean Cuddy dumped you? Last I heard you weren't her boyfriend, and she can't have dumped you if you're not together."

"We were together. Well, sleeping together anyway. Whether we were together together - actually, we never did get that straightened out."

"You've been sleeping together? When did this start?"

"A couple weeks ago."

Wilson sat back in his chair and stared. "I can't believe you didn't tell me about this. Again."

"Thought you would have figured it out on your own. What kind of friend are you, can't even tell when I'm getting some on a regular basis."

"You're right, this is all my fault. And now we've established that, can we get back to the part where you were Cuddy's boyfriend, right up until she dumped you?"

"It was weird."

"Tell me about it. The thought of the two of you together - downright creepy, actually." He pretended to shudder.

House stopped playing morosely with his food long enough to spare his friend a glare. "I was talking about when she dumped me."

"What's so weird about that? Sounds like she came to her senses - or else you did something to her. Well, of course you must have done something..."

"She said she wanted to be with me."

"Really?" Wilson's voice betrayed real interest now.

"But she put it all on her hormones. Said things were too complicated, and it wasn't real anyway, and that's why she was ending it." He gave a half-shrug. "Makes sense I guess, she's been acting crazy lately, you've seen her."

"Right, because no woman would ever just want to be with you," Wilson said, his tone dry. "Certainly not Cuddy - she couldn't possibly care about you. She only puts up with you all day, every day, and makes sure you keep your job even when you're making hers impossible. She's only known you better than almost anyone for years now, and still apparently doesn't mind sleeping with you. She only happens to be currently carrying your child, and wants you to be involved in that. You're right, what basis could there possibly be for deeper feelings on her part? It must be hormones."

"You're the worst yenta ever," House declared. "She's the one who kicked me to the curb, she's the one you should be brow-beating."

"Want me to? I could go ply your case for you, tell her you're pining, see if she'll give you another chance."

"Or I could kick your ass."

"Could you?"

"Try me."

"I have to say, the surliness, the comfort eating - anyone would think you were actually upset about this."

"The rumours are true - she is that good in bed. I'm especially going to miss that thing she does with her m-"

"And now that I've called you on it, you're going to evade with some disgusting remark that isn't even true."

"I'd hardly have to make up anything about Cuddy's sexcapades - got enough dirty little factoids to fill up every bathroom wall in this place."

"You know I hate to say I told you so..."

"Then don't. It's such a cliché."

"But I told you things were going to change, didn't I? And now you like her, don't you." It wasn't a question. He seemed so sure of himself.

Wilson wasn't looking at the big picture, however. High school terminology aside, it wasn't about whether he liked her. No, what mattered was what he was willing to do about it.

He shrugged. "She didn't bug me as much as I thought she would. And like I said, the sex was great - so what's not to like? In fact, you're right, go tell her I'm pining for her. Maybe I'll get a pity screw out of it."

"And we're back to being disgusting." Wilson rolled his eyes.

"It's my way of hiding my pain."

"You don't hide your pain. You make sure everyone knows about it, then you make it go away the fastest, easiest way you know how."

"Good point." He reached into his pocket and drew out his Vicodin. "Now all I need is a visit to a sleazy massage parlour and I'm all set." He washed down the pill with the last of his chocolate milk, then rose, stuffing his uneaten chips and pudding cup in his pockets for later.

Wilson was watching him go with a knowing look on his face. As far as House was concerned, Wilson could think what he liked.

He didn't need to talk about his feelings - not that he ever did, of course - but he really didn't in this case. Wilson didn't get it, and Cuddy didn't either, for that matter. This was just another dip in the rollercoaster. And how was he going to while away the time before it hit another lofty height? That was easy. If he couldn't screw her, he was going to screw with her.

What he had planned didn't involve a men's room wall and a permanent marker, no, but it was going to be fun nonetheless.

When he arrived home it wasn't even six, which was one of the benefits of a work-free day. He made himself a sandwich and sat at his computer for a while, updating his netflix list and ordering groceries, among other things. Then he changed Steve's water and fed him. Threw some clothes in the washing machine. Basically he did anything he could think of to avoid doing what he'd already decided he was going to do tonight. If only he wasn't so busy.

When he found himself alphabetising his CD collection by genre, he realised things had gone too far. This was what Cuddy's CDs probably looked like - only with a lot more Enya and Shania Twain - and that was just plain sad.

He dropped Purple Rain and, with an air of determination he still wasn't entirely feeling, he went and got the phone and settled down with it on the couch. He dialled a number he'd known for years, and listened as it rang once, twice, three times, until finally someone picked up.

"Hi Mom," he said.

"Greg! This is unexpected, is everything all right?"

"No, there's nothing wrong - I'm fine. Though I appreciate the thinly veiled criticism that I wouldn't be calling just to say hi. Because I'm not, actually. There's something I have to tell you..."