32.

The strange thing, she found, was that things between them didn't change very much at work. She didn't know why she thought it might. It wasn't as if she'd expected him to suddenly be on time for things, or start listening to anything she said.

The fact was, she'd always accommodated his faults, all the many ways he made her life difficult, because at the end of the day one patient lived who otherwise wouldn't have and she knew it was worth it. He didn't owe her anything more than that.

Didn't mean he wasn't still the worst employee in the history of employees, and that she didn't sometimes want to strangle him just to see his eyes pop out.

No, that hadn't changed, either. She'd never taken his behaviour personally before, and she wasn't going to start now just because he 'liked her enough', whatever that meant.

Little things, though, slipped through - a more intimate smile here and there, the occasional urge to drag him into a storage closet, which she never acted on but which he always seemed to pick up on anyway and then made suggestive comments accordingly.

More often, though, it was business as usual.

"Good morning, Dr House," she greeted him with a smile as she joined him in the elevator just as the doors were closing. She reached over and pressed the button for the third floor, while he did that thing where he acted like her very existence pained him.

It was after ten and House had been at the hospital for a while already, however, which meant it was shaping up to be a good day. House being House was fine with her, as long as he did it while working, so she simply ignored him ignoring her and watched the floor numbers change.

The elevator came to a halt just then, and after a few seconds of nothing happening, they both realised nothing was happening. The car wasn't moving. The doors weren't opening.

"You've got to be kidding," she said, turning to meet House's eyes.

"Don't look at me," he said, unmoving beside her, "I've never been in a stopped elevator I haven't stopped myself."

"They said they were on top of things, I can't believe this." She looked down at the control panel and pressed the emergency intercom button. "It's probably nothing. It better be nothing."

"Yes, I'm sure it's nothing," House said. "I've got a really good feeling about this."

"Well, five or ten minutes, that's not so bad." She turned to face him, reasoning lamely, "It's not like they don't have the routine down by now."

"Well as long as you're convinced," he said sarcastically, leaning against the wall.

"Damn," she said, hands at her jacket pockets, "I don't have my cell phone with me. Can I have yours?"

He shrugged. "Mine's sitting on the table up in diagnostics, playing the Macarena really loudly whenever someone calls me - which I hope is often because the keypad's locked and no one will be able to turn it off. People hate that song, did you know that?"

"Great," she muttered to herself, not really paying attention to him as she looked at her watch for the third time since speaking with maintenance.

"You can't last five minutes without giving someone an order? We can always play 'Simon Says' if you're that desperate."

"I just want to let my assistant know what's happening," she told him defensively. "And tell Dyer why I'm not meeting with her right now as we arranged, because I'm stuck in an elevator."

"Five minutes without contact with the rest of the hospital," he pondered. "I'm suddenly dying to know what you do when you need to use the bathroom."

All of two minutes had passed, during which she had stood resolutely in the middle of the elevator, staring at the doors and willing the thing to start moving. It didn't work, of course, and after another minute she gave up, moving over against the wall to settle beside House with a sigh.

She checked her watch. Sighed again.

He drummed his hands on the wall behind him with a random staccato beat, just long enough to get irritating, then finished with a flourish. "So," he said, "Wanna fool around?"

"Of course I do," she replied without so much as batting an eye. "Especially with the security camera recording every detail."

She looked down at her watch again, noting that fifty-five seconds had passed. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, fingers tapping the outside of her thigh impatiently. She resisted the urge to check the time again. It was in casting her gaze around the small interior for something else to focus on that she became aware of House, surreptitiously edging away from her along the wall.

"What?"

Found out, he pushed off and crossed to the opposite wall in one long cane-propelled stride.

"What?" she said again, more insistently.

"I make jokes but I'm starting to think if you have to stand here doing nothing for much longer your head is actually going to explode this time."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest, watch tucked out of sight. "Want to talk about your case?"

He made a face.

"All right, how's your leg today?"

He made a big show of looking down. "Still there."

"Spoke to your mother lately? How are your parents?"

He didn't answer, just started digging desperately through his pockets. She smirked and fell silent.

House's search turned up his vicodin and his portable console, the latter of which he returned to the inside of his jacket after taking one mournful look at it.

"Battery's low," he muttered. "Tell you what," he said next, staring upwards as he flipped the cap on the pill bottle, "I'll give you a boost, we pop the sun roof on this baby and shimmy down the cables to freedom."

She raised a doubtful gaze to the service hatch in the roof. "That's ambitious."

"Well, so's your cleavage."

"I think you've been watching too many action movies."

"Stuck in an elevator and we're not going to fool around or attempt a daring escape? You're right, my experiences with the entertainment industry and all its glories have not prepared me for this. Unless you want to go into labour. Although realistically we'd have to be stuck in here a lot longer than five minutes for that to get interesting."

"Don't even joke about it."

She'd been trying not to even think about it, herself. It would be the ultimate irony, going into premature labour literally mere feet away from one of the top maternal care units in the state, and being unable to reach it.

There was no reason for that to happen, of course. And it was such a cliché there was no way it would actually happen. This is what she told herself, but looking at House she saw that she wasn't the only one who found the idea sobering.

"You're twenty-six weeks," he said, almost like an offering.

"I know. Good chances."

"Even so. Don't go into labour."

"I'm doing my best." She spread her hands and they shared the smallest of smiles, for once of a mind about something.

Of course, it occurred to her that if she had to be trapped in an elevator when a dire medical situation arose, there were few people she'd rather be stuck with than House. Perhaps even if there wasn't one, she reflected.

It was at this moment that the tinny, obnoxious strains of the Macarena filled the confined space. Her smile froze.

"Oops," he said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his cell phone.

Her jaw dropped and she gaped at him. "You said you didn't have your phone!'

"I totally lied. Shocking, isn't it?" He brought the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"