30.

"Why can't you shop online like a normal workaholic?"

"I think you're getting 'workaholic' and 'social recluse' mixed up," she said, not bothering to object to the former term as it applied to herself. She couldn't help grinning at him as he surveyed the store with grim resignation. "You wanted to come," she pointed out.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed for her hand, pulling her along after him. "Let's get this over with."

"You think it's too dark?" She ran her hand over the smooth finish. The crib was nice and simple, well made, just what she wanted, and she tried to picture it in the spare room - which she was going to have to start thinking of as the baby's room at some point.

She reached for the wood sample chips. One was far too light, the other a little red for her taste. She looked over at House, who was pushing at the matching rocking chair with his cane.

"You have absolutely no opinion? The other day you were full of helpful suggestions."

"You like it, I don't care - it's perfect," he said, not looking up. "But that's not the point. You're not going to buy it, you're going to write it down, take notes, go home and obsess over it until your precious bundle of joy ends up sleeping in a drawer."

Yes, all right, she'd already circled this model in the catalogue she'd picked up on the way in, and made a few notes. "I have a system," she told him, somewhat defensively.

"How do you run a hospital?"

She shrugged. "The same way."

It was all about the system - make a system, stick to the system, the system would not let you down.

He gave a rather forceful push to the back of the rocking chair, sending it flying madly back and forth. "It's too dark," he announced, and moved on towards the next display setting.

"This is cute."

"'Boring' is the word I would have gone for."

It had black and white checks and sturdy wheels for jogging - it wasn't boring, it was cute, but all she said was, "If this is all such a trial, why did you even bother to come?"

"Because I want to get in your pants. Or," he stopped to correct himself, "I should say back in your pants. Because I've already been in your pants numerous times."

"Any chance you're going to stop talking about my pants anytime soon?"

"Would you like to know exactly how many times I've been in your pants? I keep count."

"I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Am I going to be seeing some in-pants action any time soon?"

"See all these people around us?" She leaned in towards him, lowering her voice in the vain hope that he might do the same. "The other customers, those sales assistants over there - as far as they know, we could be just another normal couple. Maybe we could just pretend to be one for a while."

"They don't care about our relationship status, they're looking at us thinking 'oh goody, more customers we can talk into handing over nine hundred dollars in exchange for what is essentially a cushion on wheels'."

"It's nine hundred dollars?" She reached for the tag dangling from the stroller's handlebar.

"It's two dollars worth of cloth and padding supported by three dollars worth of metal and plastic. But I bet Britney Spears has one just like it."

"Well I don't blame her. It's cute."

He turned her hand over, reading the back of the tag. "'Made using space age technology and materials'," he read out mockingly.

"Just what I'm looking for in a stroller - its aerodynamic qualities."

"It's got a cup holder," was House's response. "Convenient." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then took out his Vicodin bottle and set it reverently in place. He looked at her seriously. "We should so totally get it."

By the third store, House was giving her a disturbingly realistic taste of what it would be like dragging a bored, cranky five-year-old around a busy store past naptime.

"Lunch was hours ago," he complained. "And that's ugly."

She did her best to ignore him. "See, you put this on the crib, and it produces inter-uterine sounds, which is soothing and familiar, to help the baby sleep."

"My leg hurts," he said.

"Take your Vicodin."

"Any other addictive behaviours you'd like to enable?"

"I just want you to stop whining." She put down one soft, cuddly animal disguising a sophisticated sensory system and picked up another.

The plaintive tone ratcheted up a notch. "But I'm hungry. And in case you haven't noticed, this is the same stuff we saw in the last two stores, which means that your inability to make any sort of decision on your own - besides sapping my will to live - is all the more blatantly idiotic."

He was looming over her as he finished, using his height to best advantage. Unimpressed, she held up two virtually identical options, just to see him twitch.

"Slumber Bear or Sleep Sheep?"

"If you think about it, not much point spending all this time picking stuff out for yourself," he said as they waited in line at the cash register. "When really, you should be shopping with whatever total stranger you hire to raise your child while you're working twelve hours a day in mind. She'll be the one pushing the stroller, doing whatever the hell it is one does with a diaper genie. Ooh, can we get a Nordic nanny? Or some eastern bloc refugee, nice and desperate, do just about anything to stay in the country if you know what I mean?" He winked exaggeratedly at her.

"I don't know how soon I'll be returning to work after my leave," she said, ignoring the bulk of his words and zeroing in on what she assumed was his point.

"You're not stay-at-home mom material. You probably wish you were at work right now."

Work on a Saturday - actually, she loved working on a Saturday. Nobody bothered her, regular hospital activity was cut by half, she could work in peace and get things done.

Unless he had a case, House never set foot in the hospital on Saturdays...

She was, she realised suddenly, smiling to herself as she stared off into space.

And House was looking at her like she'd just confirmed every suspicion he'd ever had about her. "No, of course not, no need for a nanny here," he mocked, eyebrows raised. He reached over to snatch a lollipop from a stand on the edge of the counter. "You and I are very different people," he added, tore off the wrapper and stuck the candy in his mouth.

"So you're interested in being a stay-at-home dad?"

He was too busy making a disgusted face to answer. Not at her suggestion but at the candy.

"It's ginger flavoured," she told him, pointing to the display, "For morning sickness."

"I think the vomit would be a better option. Here," he thrust it at her, as the customer ahead of them moved away. "I'm going to go wait in the car."

Juggling her purchases and now a sticky, unwrapped lollipop, she stared after him. "You don't have the keys."

"Never stopped me before," he blithely returned, heading out the doors.

Conscious of the looks she was getting, she forced a smile as she turned to the clerk waiting to serve her and began depositing items on the counter. "I'll take these, and uh," she sighed and held it up, "One lollipop."

He had, in fact, lifted the keys from her purse at some point - she realised this upon finding her car idling by the mall exit, House in the driver's seat. The trunk popped open as she approached and she stowed her shopping bags before moving back around the passenger side. He deposited a box of donuts on her lap as soon as she got in.

"Hungry?" he mumbled, his mouth full as he pulled away from the curb. He was driving one-handed, the other busy holding a half-eaten donut.

She just raised an eyebrow at him as she arranged her seatbelt.

Actually, she was hungry. And tired, verging on cranky. It was difficult enough avoiding junk food without having it literally dropped in her lap.

Plus, he was getting powdered sugar everywhere.

She didn't have a donut. He was polishing off his third by the time they turned into her street. His bike was still parked safely to one side of her driveway and she wondered idly whether he would make an escape now or if he was planning to stay awhile. Whichever it was, she decided to make him help carry everything inside, regardless.

He stood behind her with the look of a disgruntled Sherpa as she got the door open with her newly reclaimed keys, which went a long way to improving her mood. Once inside, she directed him down the hall while she took the donuts to the kitchen and only briefly considered trashing them before leaving the box on the counter.

"Still needs a little work," he said when she joined him.

The room was bare now, still smelling of fresh paint since the painters had been a week ago - bare except for the growing pile of boxes and shopping bags that would stay right where they were until she had somewhere to put it all.

Babies, she had always known in theory, and was now discovering in practice, needed so much stuff. And she didn't have any of the major items like furniture yet.

"Still needs a lot of work." She sighed, leaning against the doorframe listlessly.

There was so much to do and she was frankly exhausted after hours of shopping... If House weren't here she'd be heading straight for the sofa and a nap. Now she supposed she would be expected to entertain him.

"You wanna watch TV?" she said.

His eyes travelled over her, the full weight of his attention behind it. Whatever he saw, all he said was, "For future reference, the answer to that question is always 'yes'."

She smiled, and in the living room she let him commandeer the remote and one end of the sofa. She took the other, kicking off her shoes and curling up with a plate of grapes, paying little attention to his manic channel surfing habits - until he settled on a Brady Bunch rerun. Then she had to wonder if he was making some kind of comment on the family state. He didn't answer when asked.

"Florence Henderson is hot," of course, did not count as an answer.

He was ignoring her, and she was comfortable, sinking lower and lower into the cushions until she was laying on her side, feet touching his leg. House never did anything absently, but the way his hand came to rest on her ankle was close, his eyes never leaving the screen.

She closed her eyes.

When she woke up, the television was off and she was stretched out on the couch, alone. She'd been asleep too long and she was disoriented as she slowly sat up and looked around. Early evening light was rapidly fading from the room.

She was starving - this was her first sensible thought, the second being where is House. The house was quiet but she knew he was still here. Standing up, she went looking for the man who would never pass up the chance for unsupervised snooping time.

He was in her bed. Well, sitting on her bed, ankles crossed, as he reclined on her pillows. He was reading one of her child-rearing books and looked up innocently when she came to stand in the doorway. She didn't buy it for a second.

"Did you have a nice nap?" He smiled, and she was still half-asleep and was unable to work up anything like annoyance, so she smiled back.

"Yes, I did. Having fun?" she countered.

"Don't worry, I've been keeping myself entertained."

"I'll bet." Still smiling, she came in and sat next to him, her hip touching his.

He put the book aside and reached for her in one movement, leaning forward to meet her mouth with his as he gathered her against his chest.

She wondered whether he'd been waiting to do this all day. It certainly wasn't unwelcome - if nothing else, at least they were good at this part - and if she was honest, she'd been looking forward to it, too.

Dinner with House and Marjorie, her accountant, interesting as it had been, couldn't have been less like a date. It certainly hadn't ended like one. And since then he had been paying her the sort of attention at work that was alternately endearing and infuriating - when he wasn't plain ignoring her. In other words, things had been surprisingly normal.

He hadn't pressed, she hadn't called him on it. By unspoken agreement, it seemed, they had been waiting. And now here they were.

She brought her hands up to his face, the prickle of his permanent five o'clock shadow familiar under her palms. He still tasted like donuts, she found as she deepened the kiss, lips parting, dragging her tongue through his mouth. It was strangely enticing and she made a small sound of approval against his lips.

Her stomach rumbled.

"God, I'm starving," she said, pulling away just far enough to get the words out. "What time is it?" She turned her head to look at the clock on the nightstand. He huffed in her ear. "I'm going to make dinner. You hungry?"

She pushed herself off him and got to her feet. His voice came after her as she left the room, "Your priorities suck!'

In the kitchen, she stood staring into the refrigerator, trying to come up with something quick and easy to prepare.

The television had come on in the living room by the time she started transferring ingredients to the counter, found a knife, chopping board, a bowl for the salad. She padded down the corridor, feet still bare from her sojourn on the sofa, and stuck her head around the doorway.

"I'm making omelettes, what do you want in yours? I'm having mushrooms and spinach."

"Sounds tasty." There was an implied 'not' on the end.

"There's peppers," she offered, "Tomatoes, or -"

"Cheese?"

She waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Just cheese?"

"Any cured meat products you have, feel free to cram in as much as humanly possible."

Reserving judgement, she went back to the kitchen.

"You put spinach in mine," he said, poking at it. "And chopped it too finely to eat around."

Sitting beside him, back on the sofa, she shrugged, unrepentant. "It's food you didn't have to cook or pay for yourself. Something tells me you'll manage to choke it down."

"Trying to force healthy eating habits on me? I have a Wilson for that."

"You can't really eat like a teenager." She looked him over. "You pretend to, but you can't possibly, not all the time - you'd have keeled over from malnutrition years ago."

"You're just jealous of my girlish figure."

She didn't really expect him to help clean up after dinner, and he didn't, though he did come wandering in after a while, poking through her refrigerator and cabinets, hovering as she stood at the sink. It made her think he was waiting to be asked - or told - to pitch in. The fact that he would never just offer his assistance was a little annoying but at that moment it wasn't her primary concern.

"Did you have any fun at all today?" It didn't come out as an accusation, she was more curious than anything. Why are you here? That was the real question - that, and why are you here with me?"

Happy as he seemed to occupy her space and eat her food, he certainly wasn't in it for the domestic bliss.

"Did you?" he said.

"I asked first."

"It's amazing the lengths some people will go - oh, who am I kidding, no it's not. If I put out, there's a better chance you will. Any guy who ever stood outside the changing rooms in Victoria's Secret, or forked over for a lobster dinner can tell you that."

It wasn't much of an answer, and she didn't entirely believe it, anyway. Of course she wasn't going to get the answer she was after - if she even knew what that was - and especially not when she couldn't even give voice to the question.

He was here, he was trying. That was worth something, she reminded herself. That was worth a lot. Up past her wrists in hot, soapy water, with House lounging by the refrigerator, staring at her back, she wanted to believe that could be enough.

She let it go without comment, turning her attention back to the sink. The pan she had used for the omelettes had been soaking for a few minutes and she set about cleaning it in earnest.

She had a dishwasher, but rarely used it - one person didn't generate that many cups and plates so she washed up by hand most of the time. Just having House there left twice as much mess as usual.

And if that wasn't the story of her life...

"This could make things difficult at work," she said. "Have you thought about that?"

"It's not my potential problem, it's yours." She resisted the urge to turn and look at him as he continued to speak. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't already figured it all out in advance, made contingencies upon contingencies. They can't fire you because I'm pretty sure you've got it set up so the hospital will turn to dust in that event. I could always sue your ass for sexual harassment, but apart from that ever-present risk, what's going to change? I do something to piss you off, you get cranky, I walk all over you, you assign me more clinic hours, I don't do them... we have ourselves a happy little status quo here - let's not ruin it."

Now she did turn to face him. "The very fact that you see our relationship that way -"

"We've created life together, Cuddy. How much more compromised can you be?"

"With you, somehow there's always exciting new ground to cover," she drawled, sending him a look before turning back to drain the sink and peel off her rubber gloves. She was done.

"Great," he said dismissively. "Glad we had this talk. Now, where's dessert?"

She shook her head at the segue, but pointed to the fruit bowl.

"No, seriously," he said.

She shrugged. "There are those donuts. I'd go with the fruit."

"Fruit is not nature's candy!" he suddenly declared loudly, his words directed more at her midsection than at her, she realised. "Don't believe a word she says, she's only trying to avoid future dentist bills."

"Hey," she protested laughingly, hands moving to cover her belly.

He rolled his eyes a little, coming towards her. "What, are you trying to cover the kid's ears? He doesn't understand the English language," he told her as his long fingers smoothed the material covering her navel. "I could say 'there's no such thing as Santa Claus!' Or 'you're a loser and so's your mom!' - all he gets is a blur of noise."

She decided to contribute her own words of wisdom. "Your father can't help being a jerk, don't pay any attention to him. Now, or ever."

There was an answering shift inside her. She smiled at House's expression, seeing that he felt it, too.

For a few seconds they just stood there quietly. It was, she thought, a beautiful moment. Until the sheen of wonder faded and House started prodding at her like a med student on his first OBGYN rotation, which grew old fast.

She took his hand, stopping the impromptu exam and regaining his attention.

"Why don't we skip dessert?" she suggested. "You can examine me as close as you want."

It wasn't subtle - it wasn't meant to be.

He looked at her with growing amusement. "I'm sorry, was that a come on?" Her mouth dropped open a little at his response. He waved a finger at her. "You're seducing me. No point denying it - I know how this goes, remember?"

"I'm not denying it." She was indignant, not embarrassed. "I just didn't think you'd need convincing, Mr 'I want to get in your pants'."

She folded her arms over her chest as he stepped up fully against her. He was close enough now her belly pushed into him as his hands came to rest on her hips.

"I want to get in your pants, you want to get in my pants, it works out for everybody."

"Glad you think so," she said dryly, but she was tense all of a sudden. Nervous, just a little, as she dropped her arms to her sides, and she knew he could tell, which only made things worse.

His fingers found the edge of her top, a fitted tank gathered down the front with extra material to accommodate an expanding waistline. Which he was suddenly dragging upwards, pausing until she lifted her arms so he could pull it off over her head.

She turned her head, looking past him. He saw everything, always, which was fine when she knew exactly how good her body was - damn good, especially for someone approaching forty at an alarming rate. But now she was starting to get big, and he could see that too, whether he commented on it or not.

He wasn't saying anything right now. For a moment, feeling huge and unattractive, she almost wished they were in her office and he was making fat jokes - it would be like a normal day and she could pretend nothing had changed, that it didn't matter what he thought.

On the other hand, she thought as her eyes flickered up to his, he wasn't looking at her as though repulsed by the very sight of her.

"It's different," she offered, but her confidence was growing as his fingers trailed up her sides. She gripped the edge of the counter behind her while his hands splayed large and warm over her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts still encased in her bra.

"If you think I'm even going to be looking below about waist-height, I'm afraid you're going to be really disappointed before this is over."

She reached up to put her arms around his neck. True to his word, his eyes never strayed. Apparently going up a cup size was enough to distract from her bulging middle, the extra inches on her thighs and hips - she could live with that.

"You don't want this," she said, keeping her voice low.

It was the middle of the night, the small stove light providing the only illumination. She was back in the kitchen. She was alone, but she wasn't exactly talking to herself as she looked down at the box sitting on the counter.

"Sugar is bad for you. It will rot your teeth and make you hyper. And don't get me started on saturated fats." She sighed. Of all the things to crave... "This is what you want? What possible nutritional benefits do you think you'll be gaining here?"

"Do it, Mommy! Eat the bad food!" came a high little voice from the doorway.

"Oh, shut up," she said without turning, before taking the entire box with her to sit at the table.

House came in, dressed once more in jeans and t-shirt. She had wrapped herself in her robe; nights were getting colder now. He leaned a hip against the table, leaning forward, a hand reaching to rub his thigh.

"How is it tonight?" she ventured softly.

"Feels like an elephant sat on it." His mouth was caught between a smirk and a grimace.

"Forgive me if I don't overflow with sympathy." She made the decision to ignore him and to give in to her craving simultaneously, grabbed a donut and took a bite. It was on the verge of going stale, but still good. Really, really good. "Oh my god, why did I bother with the sex?" she said, earning herself a filthy look.

"I'm asking myself that same question."

She finished her donut. He swallowed a Vicodin - he had probably already taken one in the bedroom when he woke up, she guessed.

"Let's go back to bed, she said, sucking lingering traces of sweetness from her thumb and forefinger as she rose.

His movements were slow in the dark of her bedroom as he dropped his jeans and lowered himself to the side of the bed. She got in on the other side and waited. The sheets had cooled and she sought out his warmth when he finally lay down, his arms coming up around her automatically. It was nice, she thought.

Which was what made it so strange

"What are we doing?" she said.

"We're cuddling. I know, I'm filled with shame, too. Turn over, we can spoon, that's a bit more respectable."

She didn't move except to snuggle a little closer, breathing in the scent of him through his t-shirt. "It's nice. Since when are you nice, House?"

"Try not to strain something as you wrap your pretty little head around this: I like you now. Occasionally I'm going to be nice."

She snorted softly against his chest. "You don't like me. You don't like anyone. You think I'm bossy, and obsessive -"

"And anal, and ambitious. You care too much what people think and you dress like a street walker even though you're forty and pregnant and you could have maybe a shred of decency once in a while."

"I'm thirty-nine!" she protested.

"You're short, too."

"I'm short? Low blow - you want to have a go at my mother while you're at it?"

"I like you enough."

She fell silent as she took in his words, his voice a low rumble in the dark, a faint vibration against her forehead where it was pressed close to his larynx.

"This is where you say all the reasons why you don't like me, either," he prompted eventually.

"I always liked you, House." The only thing that surprised her about this confession was the thought that perhaps he hadn't always known. "You just never cared, before," she added after a moment, "Whether I did or not."

"Yeah."

She smiled at the quiet acknowledgement, and they lay in silence for a time. She fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her and his breath in her hair.