33.

"And someone get me a sandwich," he was saying, as Cuddy hovered and made impatient faces at him, "I'll want it when I escape - working up quite an appetite in here fending off Cuddy's advances."

"Anything else?" Foreman asked dryly over the static-y line. Reception in the elevator, predictably, sucked.

"Tell Chase if I'm not out of here in twenty minutes I fully expect him to repel down the elevator shaft and bust me out. Or at least bring me my lunch." He ended the call without waiting for whatever Foreman was going to say next, and Cuddy immediately held out her hand.

"Give it to me."

"But Miss Cuddy, we barely know each other!"

"House."

"Oh, you mean this?" he held the phone tantalisingly just out of her reach.

Her outstretched arm dropped, both hands moving to her hips. "I'm not going to play your little games but ask yourself which you'd prefer - just giving me the phone, or listening to me bitch about the phone for the next god only knows how long we're in here."

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "You didn't say the magic word."

She rolled her eyes, huffed out an irritated sigh and said, "May I please borrow your phone."

He passed it to her with an appropriately smug smile.

"Thank you," she said - though it was rather lacking in sincerity, he felt - as she dialled a number.

He tuned her out as best he could, admin-ese a language he had little desire to become more familiar with, and instead weighed his cane in his hands and searched in vain for something to hit. There was not a ball or elevator maintenance worker's shin in sight, however, and by the time Cuddy had made no less than four calls he had developed a greater appreciation for just how boring her job was, as well as finding time to indulge in a brief yet satisfying fantasy about beating the doors down in a hulk-like expression of rage-fuelled strength.

"So," he said when she finally stopped yapping away to various subordinates - the phone, he noticed, went into her pocket rather than being returned to him, "Want to play eye-spy?"

She sighed and rubbed at her neck. "Are you going to 'spy' anything other than my breasts?" she asked wearily.

"Unlikely."

"Then no."

"Why would I want to spy anything else? Even if there was a lot to choose from, which in here, there isn't. Not that it isn't a very attractive elevator. I've always admired the tasteful faux-wood panelling. Very pretty. You know what would be better than a very pretty elevator?"

"If it worked?"

"If it worked!"

"I can't fix the elevator House, yelling at me isn't going to help."

He was suddenly across the small space and stabbing the intercom button. "Dr Cuddy is prepared to flash the security camera if you'll say 'five more minutes' and actually mean it this time."

By then Cuddy was elbowing him out of the way and aiming one of her more impressive glares at him while she started apologising.

"Tell him I'll do the flashing if that's how he swings. We won't judge."

"We're just getting a little antsy in here," she was saying loudly in an attempt to drown him out. "It has been longer than ten minutes -"

He turned away and crossed to the opposite corner, frustrated. He couldn't pace properly in here and standing like this was becoming less doable by the minute.

With Cuddy facing more or less away he went about the slightly awkward process of sitting down, and was propped in the corner, legs stretched out, contemplating another vicodin when she turned.

She looked down at him wordlessly for a moment, her expression unreadable apart from that annoying touch of compassion in her eyes, and slid down the wall to sit herself, not much more gracefully than he had done.

"Feel better?" she said finally, when her position mirrored his, her ankles touching his in the middle of the floor.

"Tons," he said around the pill in his mouth.

"They did say they'd pry the doors open so we can climb out if it's much longer."

"How long?"

"I guess you couldn't hear over the sound of your tantrum. Fifteen minutes is the latest estimate."

"I meant how long are the odds on us killing each other in here. I'd say ten to one at this point, growing shorter at a rate inversely proportional to the amount of time spent in captivity."

"You think they're making bets out there?"

"I would. Somewhere out there, a lot of people are laughing their asses off over this. At least three of them work for me."

A few more minutes passed. His boredom level rose. There really wasn't anything to do in here and after a while even staring at Cuddy's chest was losing its appeal - something he wouldn't have thought was even possible.

"I guess we could practice our comedy routine," he said.

She'd been staring into space, lost in her own little world, but she looked over at him, puzzled. "What?"

"You could be a much better straight man. Actually -"

"Don't say it."

"Oh fine. But my 'Cuddy's a dude' jokes kill and you know it."

"Guess it's a good thing you hardly ever talk to patients." She grinned at her own quip and he rolled his eyes.

"See, this is the problem. I'm the funny one. You're clearly not, so stop trying."

She just laughed at him, unconcerned. "Whatever."

"Are you ready? I'll throw you an easy one. Cuddy's cleavage is so impressive..."

She raised an eyebrow, telling him flatly: "I'm not doing it."

"Got somewhere else to be? Cuddy's cleavage is so impressive."

"How impressive is it?" she deadpanned.

"Every time she steps outside, we get fan mail from the space station."

"Hilarious."

"Been working on that one for a while. Then there's the follow up about man-made objects visible from space."

"Man-made?"

"Grew them your own self, and everything." She narrowed her eyes, apparently guessing what was coming next. "And you are a man, aren't you?"

"Yes, House. I'm a man. And apparently, a medical miracle." She smoothed her hands over her bulging middle.

She was getting exasperated by now, and he smiled as she fixed her eyes on his. "Oh, you want me so bad right now," he said.

"I'm just a simmering pool of burning lust over here."

"I can tell. Shame about the surveillance equipment in here, otherwise you'd be on me like an astronaut on a camera phone while passing over the eastern seaboard."

He was expecting a laugh because that one was funny, but she just gave a resigned little sigh. "House..." she began, hesitated, then started up again, "Look, do you want your phone back? It must have games on it - or you could call Wilson, bug him instead."

He ignored the diversionary tactics. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, self-conscious but clearly not wanting to show it. "It's just... Do you ever get the feeling we don't really get along, so much as we're just... used to each other?" She gestured vaguely with her hands. "I mean, doesn't it bother you that we don't ever really talk?"

"Does it bother me?"

She rolled her eyes, he suspected mostly at herself, which he thought more than justified. "I know we talk, but we don't -"

"Translation: 'we never talk, you're not interested in me for me, you're only using me for my uterus'. Am I getting warm?"

"You wanted to hear it," she said, holding up her hands.

"Fine," he said with a shrug, "Let's talk. Let's talk about how you think you know me. You do know me, better than almost anyone, but -"

"But you're so special and complicated, no one could ever really know a man like you."

"I was going to say 'but you are terminally myopic whenever you get personally involved in anything'. I like your thing too, though. I am a very unique snowflake."

"Don't bring objectivity into it, House. We're not supposed to be objective about this - you don't get a medal if you can drop your emotional baggage at the door."

"Doesn't change the fact that history and your long, distinguished relationship rap sheet shows us you'd benefit from a third party basically making any and all decisions for you because frankly, you just can't be trusted."

"Are we talking recent history, because I'm starting to agree with you."

"You're not in control in a relationship, and you hate that. Like being stuck in a tiny little metal box with someone, only pushing the right buttons doesn't always take you where you want to go."

"Well you've started unloading the metaphors. This should be good," she muttered with arms folded across her chest, resentful as she always was upon finding herself on the defensive.

"You're never happy in a relationship. Your only option is to distance yourself, wait for whichever gomer you're making time with to give you a reason to dump their ass, and then at least you can say you tried."

"You realise you just referred to yourself as a 'gomer'."

"I'm honoured to be counted amongst such a lofty number."

"This is not exactly a great revelation, House, so I'm terrible at relationships. Get to the point."

"You're waiting for me to screw up. Until then, you're just humouring me. It's not fair, stop it."

Her face wasn't giving an inch, but her eyes dropped away and he knew he had her. "What if I don't know how?" she said after a moment.

"Consult the gods, talk to your life coach - that's not me, by the way. Figure out whatever issues you have stemming from being successful and attractive and, god forbid, female, and then get over them."

"I can't believe you are telling me to get over my issues."

"You're just jealous of my issues because they're totally justified as opposed to being, oh what's the word, pathetic? Works for me. Now, aren't you glad we talked?"

"Delighted."

"Can I have my phone back?"

She was still frowning but at that the corners of her mouth turned up. "No."

"How much longer?"

"In minutes or game stakes?"

"Minutes."

She glanced down at her watch. "Give it another two and I'll make them open the doors."

"For the record, I'd rather climb up than down. Though neither will be fun."

He didn't look at her but could tell when she nodded. "Me too - far less chance of anyone getting a look up my skirt. We probably won't get a choice."

They sat in silence while he let his internal clock tick away another thirty seconds, thirty-five...

"You're not objective." Her words were half muttered, then she shrugged and spoke more firmly. "You're not objective. You say I'm not giving you a fair chance because my judgement is clouded, well, the same applies to you."

"No it doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Good answer. You know, maybe you make me deliriously happy. Maybe, there's no one else in the world I could imagine being with and you'd never know because that would make you happy, and deep down you don't believe you can ever be happy. We all bring our own issues to the table, House."

His head tilted to the side, acknowledging the hit, but he wasn't ready to lay down arms just yet.

"Are you in love with me?" he countered.

She stared at him, her expression conveying some nameless emotion he felt as if he should recognise, before settling into something more impassive.

She opened her mouth to speak -

Then the elevator moved.

They stared at each other for what must have been the shortest elevator ride ever, moving all of ten inches, it seemed, before it stopped again and the doors opened.

Standing up off the floor was easier than getting down had been, he just planted his cane and relied on his left leg to do the work. Still she was faster; he looked up to see Cuddy brushing off the back of her skirt and a maintenance guy blocking his exit.

"Sorry about the wait. Everyone okay in there?"

"The other elevators still working?" he demanded as he pushed past, wasting no time getting out of there.

"House?" Cuddy inquired, following close on his heels.

"Thirty minutes in the damn thing and we only made it to the third floor. If I don't want it to take that long again to reach the fourth floor, I'm going to require a working elevator. Nice, tight ship you're running here, Cuddy. Good thing no one ever has mobility issues in a hospital."

She sighed and turned back around. "Tell me it's just this one."

He paced a little ways down the corridor as Cuddy waited for the end of a lengthy explanation involving the intricacies of elevator service companies and their response times. It felt good to stretch his legs, anyway, both of them. As soon as he heard the magic words, 'just this bank', he kept going in the direction he was headed.

He half expected to hear the clicking of Cuddy's heels as she chased after him, but there was a crisis and now she was finally free to do whatever it was she did in these situations - panic, threaten to fire people, micromanage the situation to death - all of which would keep her busy for a while.

Of course, he almost wanted to be back on the elevator if it meant she'd answer the question.

In the end, all it took was one phone call. He was stretched out in his lounge chair when she appeared, familiar mix of amusement and exasperation on her face.

"I was with a patient." She stepped inside, letting the door close behind her as she fished his cell phone from her pocket and held it out to him.

"Better than a dog whistle," he commented, sitting forward to take it. Settling back, he folded his hands over his stomach and closed his eyes. Then opened one of the them a few seconds later, watching as she pulled one of his visitors chairs around and took a seat. He closed it again. "What."

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

"The poor cripple survived that harrowing ordeal, just like the more able-bodied among us. It's a miracle."

"I was just asking." It was more simple reminder than reproach, she was too used to him for that.

His hand searched and found the head of his cane, propped against the side of the chair and he let it rest there, gripping the smooth wood. He was getting the feeling he might need an escape strategy soon. She was far too quiet over there.

The question came after a long moment.

"Do you want me to be in love with you?"

There were few downsides to being right all the time. This was one of them.

He didn't say anything, and there was a weary sigh before her voice came again. "It's the wrong question, you know. It shouldn't be 'am I in love with you'. It should be 'do I want to be in love with you'. I shouldn't be sitting here thinking about how wrong we are for each other. How we're never going to last."

He opened his eyes. Her body language was relaxed, elbow propped on the back of the chair, head in her hand, while the other hand rubbed up and down a little on her belly, a soothing gesture he doubted she was even aware of.

"You kept telling yourself you didn't want a baby, either, just because you didn't get to dictate the terms." His hand left the cane and rubbed over his face. "I could've sworn you held me captive in a confined space and made me have this conversation already."

"You asked the question. Not exactly jumping in with any declarations yourself, I notice." He shrugged, and her eyebrows lifted in response. "I knew you when you were with Stacy, remember. You were so... open with her, never held anything back, as far as I could see. Which means either she ruined you for other women, or you just..." She gave a shrug of her own. "Or you just aren't in love with me. Because if you were, you'd say so."

"First time's the hardest."

She let out a soft snort of amusement. "Tell me about it."

"I love..." he said, drawing it out, "That thing you're doing with your hair these days. Looks fab."

"You're such a jerk," she laughed, shaking her head, her mouth twisting in wry amusement. Then she took up the gauntlet he'd thrown down, just as he expected her to. "I love that even when you're being a complete ass, you can still make me laugh."

"I love how you're sitting there thinking about jumping my bones, even though I'm being a complete ass."

"Yeah, and I love how you're sitting there, hoping I will."

"I love how you've deluded yourself into thinking I'm a willing participant in your hormone-fuelled sexcapades, instead of a hapless victim terrified to turn you down in case you roll over on me in my sleep."

"I love how you're just as attracted to me as ever, yet feel the need to cover that up by calling me fat every five minutes."

He smirked. "I love that we can talk like this."

She smirked back. "I love that you're going to let me have the last word."

He thought about throwing 'delusional' at her again, but she was sitting there smiling at him and he subsided. "Sure, if it makes you feel better," he said with an added eye roll instead.

The smile softened just a touch. "Thank you," she said with a level of sincerity that made him reassess what she was thanking him for.

He closed his eyes again, estimating they had approximately three more minutes before one or all of his team came in the door brandishing test results and invading this little cone of silence. There was a strange kind of intimacy at play here and she was right, it was nothing like what he'd had with Stacy. Unlike her, though, he couldn't see that as anything but a good thing.