26.

"I cannot believe you." She resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently as they waited for the elevator. He just stood there looking bored and not at all repentant.

"Could have told me Mr Snooze back there was a VIP," he said casually.

"I thought it would just encourage your little visits."

"Might have," he conceded easily enough.

"And would you have treated his wife any different when she showed up?"

"Probably wouldn't have called her Anna-Nicole."

She snorted. "You would have made a point of it."

"It's almost a compliment these days," he mused. "She lost all that weight, you know."

Not bothering to favour that with a response, she reached over and pressed the down button a few more times. And when the elevator chose that moment to arrive, even knowing that had nothing to do with it, she found it wholly satisfying all the same.

Preceding him through the doors, she turned and hit the button for the first floor. "I would have thought you'd be the last person to object to a younger woman in a relationship with an older man," she remarked as they stood side by side watching the doors close.

She was aware of him shifting to look at her and let the corners of her mouth turn up in a smirk.

"It's not the age difference - sugar daddy meets sweet young thing, that's a match made in dental cavity heaven. But she didn't care that I was in his room, she cared that I didn't kiss her ass - the kind of treatment I'm sure she's used to around here."

"It's a matter of principle," she drawled, "Not that she kicked you out in the middle of General Hospital."

"Drops in once a year, spends the rest of her time and his money in Europe sleeping with cabana boys -"

"She didn't put him in the coma, she's seeing that he gets the best possible care -"

"Meanwhile ploughing through the family fortune -"

"Since none of the sizeable cheques she writes for us have bounced I'd say she's handling her finances just fine."

"I'm pretty sure if she pays you to say that it doesn't count."

She sighed. "You're absolutely right - I mean she's not giving him migraines so she can test experimental drugs on him, or using his chest as a TV tray, but expensive shoes? Clearly she's a terrible person."

The doors slid open and she cast him a derisive glance before exiting and then moving quickly across the lobby with only a brief glance back to make sure he was coming. He was.

"I'm not apologising," he said loudly, making sure the entire first floor of the hospital could hear him.

"Then why are you following me?" she replied, pushing through the outer doors and rounding on him when he caught up.

"Because for all the pounds you've been piling on lately, I still enjoy the view."

"Fine," she said, holding up her hands, "Don't apologise." She looked through into her office, where Olivia was sitting in a visitor's chair, her back to them.

"Olivia Stewart is here to see you," Marla, who'd been watching all this over the rims of her glasses, informed her dryly.

"Thank you," she spared the other woman a brief smile before turning back to House. "You, stay here and wait while I go in there and take care of this."

"Not saying sorry," he sing-songed.

She ignored him. "Don't let him leave. Sit on him if you have to," she directed Marla as she reached for the door handle.

"Would you care to take a seat, Dr House?"

"As long as you don't. Talk about piling on the pounds."

She blocked out the exchange, quickly stepping through and closing the door after her. She took a calming breath and then turned.

"Olivia, it's good to see you," she began, moving into the room as Olivia rose to greet her.

"Lisa - goodness, look at you," she said as her eyes dropped to waist-height. "I hadn't heard. Well, congratulations." She came forward to kiss her cheeks.

"Thank you," she replied, squeezing Olivia's hands and then gesturing for her to move over to the sofa. "Why don't we have a seat?"

"Of course, I only wish I was here to see you under different circumstances - I'd love to hear all about it."

Cuddy doubted that, but she wasn't keen to divulge any of the particulars anyway. House was right, Olivia Stewart was hardly a regular visitor to PPTH. Thankfully she also wasn't the type to chat with staff, so it was unlikely the matter of paternity would come up to complicate the situation. No, the woman showed up a few times a year, resisted any suggestion of having her husband transferred to a permanent care facility, always making sure to mention her annual contribution if anyone pressed the issue.

"I'm so sorry about this," she said once they were settled, mentally calculating how many times over the years she'd had to placate someone House had insulted. If only she had ten bucks for every instance she'd never have to work again. "Dr House is waiting outside to apologise, on top of which you have my personal assurance that it won't happen again."

"Honestly, it's absurd it happened at all - who does this Dr House think he is?"

Smile fixed firmly in place, her mind raced as she tried to come up with a good excuse for House's atrocious behaviour. It wasn't as if she'd never found herself in this position before.

What she knew of this woman, however, was that she loved a good cause - or more specifically, being seen as sympathetic to them. So she leaned forward, dropped her voice discreetly as if she was about to confide some great secret, and prepared to lie her ass off.

"The truth is, Dr House is something of a special case..."

"Dr House," Olivia said quietly as the two of them exited her office.

The man in question looked up from where he was making a paper airplane out of an information pamphlet - there were already several littered around Marla's desk, Cuddy noticed - and regarded them warily.

"I just wanted you to know, you should feel free to visit my husband as much as you want. I understand any interruption to your routine - well. You know, I'm sure Charles appreciates the company. I can't visit as much as I'd like to..."

House just blinked up at her as if she was speaking a different language. Cuddy had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling, managing a reassuring nod when Olivia looked toward her uncertainly.

"I'm sure you want to go up and sit with him now," Cuddy said to Olivia. "And again, I'm so sorry -"

"No, no, it's fine." Olivia put out a hand towards her. "Lisa, we really should have lunch while I'm in town. Dr House," she turned back to him and spoke slowly and deliberately, "It was nice to meet you."

She watched the woman go. House rose beside her and fixed her with a disbelieving look.

"What did you say to her?"

"You don't want to know."

"Oh I think I do."

She shrugged. "I just told her what a gifted physician you are."

"And?"

"And... that we have to make allowances for you because your genius comes at a terrible price." She paused for a moment. "I may have used the words 'rain man'."

Over at the desk there was a snort of amusement.

"Oh god," House groaned, wincing.

"And implied that her comatose husband is your only friend in the world," she added, unable to stop the grin from appearing this time.

He leaned back, craning his head to look behind her. "I think you'll find that burning smell is your pants going up in flames."

She rolled her eyes. "You're welcome," she said, and ducked back into her office, unsurprised when he came lumbering through the door after her.

"Oh come on, that little manoeuvre wasn't for me - you were just keeping the cash cow happy."

"I'm sure no one would have any problem with you chasing off another contributor just because you don't like how she came by her money. Anyway," she sighed, and confessed, "It's partly my fault. I knew Olivia was coming today - I got a note about it weeks ago. I completely forgot. I've been so absent-minded lately, I'm not used to having a mind like a sieve. I know what you're like, you can bet if I'd remembered I would have found something to keep you busy today."

"So it's all your fault. For shame, you didn't stick a post-it to your computer," he said.

"Thanks for the pep-talk," she muttered as she moved around behind her desk. She remained standing as she gathered together the materials she needed, already running late for her next meeting.

"I like how you keep telling yourself you've got some measure of control over me," House went on. "Of course, if you do, then anything I do really is your fault, leaving me absolved of all responsibility. I can get away with anything. Nice."

"And that would be different from the current state of things, how exactly? It's not my fault you're a lunatic," she told him as she pulled open her top drawer. She kept a box of granola bars in her desk and produced one now. "But it is my responsibility to try to stop you from doing crazy things - and to clean up the resulting mess when you do them anyway."

"So much for lunch," House said, watching her as she devoured half the bar in seconds.

She swallowed with difficulty. "So much for your clever diversionary tactic, you mean. Now if you don't mind, I was supposed to be somewhere five minutes ago."

He reached out and stopped her as she passed. He looked... not contrite, she thought, but something. Regretful, perhaps.

"Do you want me to apologise?" he said.

Her first instinct was to laugh, but then she realised he was being serious. She frowned instead, confused. "A bit late now, our big donor is happy again and -"

He rolled his eyes. "Not to her, to you. I've been... irritating you lately."

She continued to stare up at him. "And what else is new?"

"Ah, but you," he pointed at her accusingly, as if she was one being exasperating instead of the other way around, "You expect too much from people, so they can't help but disappoint you. Which makes it your own fault, you know, not theirs."

"You... don't apologise, especially not to me. I don't expect you to."

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Sometimes I do. When I actually mean it."

"House -" she stopped, shaking her head. "Apologising for everything you do that makes my life difficult would take too long," she told him at last. "And I'm already late."

"I didn't say I was going to." He got in one last word as she swept past him.

She didn't respond. She really was late, and she didn't have time to deal with his - with whatever this was. His problem du jour. It was always something. But as she headed back towards the elevators she couldn't help thinking, what now?

She was looking forward to getting home that night, returning to her blissfully quiet house. Her mother had finally gone - after all manner of hints had fallen on deaf ears, she'd eventually resorted to making up an excuse. But she really did need to start converting the guest room into a nursery, and she would be having painters in soon - just not as soon as she'd led her mother to believe. For this to happen her guest had to vacate the premises.

She loved her mother, of course, and for the most part had enjoyed getting to spend time with her, but her constant presence had definitely been wearing thin by the time she'd hugged her goodbye. And she could definitely do without the running commentary on her lifestyle, her diet, her work hours, her domestic habits... Not to mention her lack of a relationship - and no, apparently 'whatever is going on between you and that man' didn't count.

At least they agreed on something.

"And what do I tell people?" her mother had said on the drive to the airport.

"How about I'm happy and successful," she replied. "That I wouldn't change a thing?"

"Well, if you think lying about it is the way to go..."

She tried to keep in mind that her mother's sense of humour was something they actually shared, and that this was a good thing - when it wasn't being aimed her way.

All this meant that she was appreciating having her house to herself again, all the more conscious of it because it wouldn't be for much longer, this solitude. The thought was as thrilling as it was distracting, and as she went to let herself in she almost didn't notice what was lying on her front door step.

There was a bunch of flowers at her feet, very close to being trampled. She picked them up and got the door open, and once inside deposited her things in the living room so she could inspect them more closely.

There was a plain white card tucked in the paper, handwritten in a familiar scrawl: This was Wilson's idea.

They were a bit squashed, she noticed, and pictured him transporting them on his bike, leaving them for her to find. She was smiling and in the next breath she wasn't, she was sitting down in the closest armchair and wishing she was allowed to drink.

But since she couldn't, she realised she was going to have to deal with it. Enough was enough.

Grabbing her purse from the end table, she found her cell phone and then House's number.

He answered after a few rings in his usual manner. "Yeah."

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"What are you wearing?" he countered.

"Flowers?"

There was a pause. "You're usually quicker on the uptake than this. You think our kid's going to be highly intelligent like me, or only moderately intelligent with intermittent spells of dumb, like you?" There was another pause. "Too far?"

"No," she said carefully, "That was perfect."

"Look -" he began with a huff, but she cut him off.

"You don't want this, not really. It's new and interesting, and it might keep you amused for a while but what about after that? When you're bored and all you want to do is hang out with Wilson and obsess over your cases? I'll just be stuck nagging you about changing diapers and when you'll be home - if it lasts that long, which it probably won't. I get enough of that at work."

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"It's not what you wanted to hear, and I'm sorry."

"No, I love it when someone tells me what I want, makes me fell all warm and fuzzy inside. Especially when 'here's what I think you want' really translates to 'here's what I think of you'. Hey, at least now I know, right?"

His tone, sharp and sarcastic, was intended to hurt and in the time she was swallowing back a heated retort he had already hung up.

She let the phone drop to her lap, stung if not very surprised. Leaning over, she retrieved the flowers she had set down on the coffee table, and regarded them impassively.

She'd never operated with blinders on when it came to House. Maybe he wanted her for now - or thought he did. But every time she began to entertain the possibility that something more could happen between them, he did something to remind her what was at stake.

Which was more than just the two of them, their jobs, and their hearts. She smoothed her hand over her swelling abdomen and wished things were more simple. But of course, nothing was ever simple where House was concerned.

The problem now was he almost certainly wouldn't see things her way. He was like a pit bull - once he latched on to something it was near impossible to get him to let go, and frankly, she was starting to feel like a rather mangled chew toy.