Lisa Cuddy woke up warm.

Someone (and she had a vague, smile-inducing idea who), had placed a pillow under her head, a blanket over her body, and a pair of warm, woolly socks on her feet.

She was utterly comfortable, more comfortable than she had been in weeks.

It was warm in the condo, and she could smell the distinct aroma of freshly brewed coffee, a smell that she had always loved.

But it seemed to be too intense to be coming from the kitchen, and so she opened her eyes, to a House who was sitting on the couch next to hers, staring intently at her sleeping form.

"House…" she started, and couldn't figure out how to finish. He waved mockingly at her, and set his mug down, leaning towards her.

"Yup, that's me. Warm? Comfortable? No kinks? Well, you have kinks, but I meant in your neck, not in your sexual psyche. I was thinking Belgian waffles for breakfast, with a raspberry- orange reduction and fresh Devon cream. Maybe an apple pear salad and London Fogs to drink. Or is that too rich for your little figure? I KNOW you don't have any baby weight to worry about, so hopefully your delicate stomach can handle real butter and cream." Cuddy smiled weakly at his remarks, happy that her reaction to his love hadn't destroyed his sarcasm muscle.

"That sounds lovely, House." she replied, getting herself up.

"That sounds lovely, House." he imitated in a high pitched voice, rolling his eyes at her. "Jeez, you crush my dreams for once, and suddenly there are no comebacks? The comebacks were my favourite part!" She rolled her eyes right back at him.

"Comeback enough for you?" she challenged, her eyes sparking up again. This was what she had missed with him; their constant battles were as much a source of energy as they were an energy drainer.

He simply grinned at her, before heading into the kitchen, singing an old English show tune at the top of his lungs while he fumbled through the fridge.

She let a small smile grace her features before turning away from him, heading for the bathroom. If there was one thing she needed, it was a shower.

She definitely couldn't wait until she got home to shower… home!

She had left Rachael with a sitter while Lucas was out of town, but she had only agreed until two in the morning!

Quickly, she rushed around the condo, looking for a phone, and as she careened around the halls she found herself face to face with House's chest. He was warm, and his t-shirt was soft against her face.

"Whoa, slow down there, Cuddy, I'm not as young as I used to be." he said teasingly, looking down at her head.

She separated her face from his chest, and looked up at him.

He was wearing an arrogant smirk, and seemed to be looking at… her breasts. Of course.

"House, what are you doing?"

"Hmm?" he asked, seemingly snapping out of a trance. "Sorry, Greta and Rosanne were distracting me."

"I thought you were calling them Patty and Selma." Cuddy replied dryly, moving away from him in further search of the phone.

"The thought of associating the twins with cancer was too much for me." House replied, putting a gigantic pout on his scruffy, lined face. "Okay, devil woman, where are you going? It's a little late for an impromptu Vicodin search; Wilson's got this place hotwired. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen gets in." As if responding to his comment, House's thigh twitched, and he fought the urge to gasp in pain.

Cuddy continued moving around the apartment, and stopped in the kitchen, where she spied a cordless phone sitting on a table by the clock.

"I need to check up on my child, House. You know, the one I left in my house with a babysitter that was supposed to leave at two am to come looking for you?"

She reached past him and grabbed the headset, dialing the number.

"Relax, Cuddy." House said, and pulled the phone out her hand. She looked at him incredulously, and made to get the phone back, but he held it over his head.

"What are you-?"

"I called your house earlier." he said, looking uncomfortable. "I got up around three and phoned. 'Cause I knew you'd get all mother bear on me if I let the brat stay alone in the house." He added the last part in hopes that she would miss the caring that had come with the gesture, but it was too late.

She smiled at him, looking genuinely pleased with him for the first time since their dance all those weeks ago.

"Oh, come on, you don't need to get all sappy on me, anyone could have figured out that impromptu sleepover plus year old sprog equals House needs to call to make sure that caretaker knows mama's having a later night that she expected."

He grinned evilly at her, before turning towards the waffle maker, which had started smoking.

"You didn't say anything to her, did you?" Cuddy asked. The last thing she needed was the nice college student she had finally settled on asking her about her annoyingly complicated love life.

"Of course I said something to her, how do you think I got her to stay until you get back? You owe her an extra ten for every hour after two, by the way. She had to reschedule a Family Psychology test today."

"That's not what I meant."

"Don't worry, Cuddles, your secret burning desire for one Greg House is safe with me." She blushed at that, for reasons known to everyone but her, and she sat down on a stool at the counter as House went about preparing breakfast.

"Don't you have something better to do than watch me peel apples?" the curmudgeon asked, carefully leaning down to get a bag of fruit from the produce drawer in the fridge.

"Not really." she replied, and watching with fascination as her employee sliced two Gala apples into perfect pieces. He then cored the pears and sliced them up just as carefully, his knife separating the flesh of the fruit as easily as any cut she had seen him make in a person.

"You're not allergic to anything weird, are you?" he asked, more for conversation than actual curiousity. She knew that he knew nearly everything about her, from the day her period started to what she could and couldn't have near her body.

"Not knocked up by the boyfriend, are you? Wouldn't want to risk the honey from the farmer's market then, would we?" She rolled her eyes at him again, happy that the action had once again become common practice.

"No." she said, pretending to be irritated. He knew otherwise, though, and looked back at her, smiling more than she had seen him smile in a long time.

Maybe being around you like this just makes him happy, a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like James Wilson said. Oh yeah, she thought back, I've been making him real happy these days, what with all the friendly conversations we've been having.

He went back to the fridge again, taking out a lemon, an orange, and a container of raspberries, as well as a jar of something deep and red and delicious looking.

"Already had the reduction ready." he said, shaking the jar at her before rolling the lemon on the chopping board and slicing it neatly in half, squeezing it into a little metal bowl.

He did the same with the orange, then went to the cupboard and took out a jar of rich looking honey, as well as a container of cinnamon sticks.

'You're lucky I can cook now, Cuddy. All you would have gotten before was a bowl of stale cereal and some Irish coffee." He took out a mortar and pestle and ground the cinnamon finely, before adding it to the bowl with the juice.

"Would you mind watching the waffles? Seeing as you aren't really doing anything except distracting me." She got up and went over to the waffle maker, whose timer still showed a minute left on it.

She was surprised at the ease at which she had found a plate to put the waffles on.

Everything was in its place in this kitchen, and that gave her a strange sense of unfamiliarity, as if this wasn't really where House lived, but where a House robot lived, going about his daily business as the world renowned diagnostician just a little bit wrong.

She could hear him whisking what she assumed was the dressing for the fruit salad, and moments later she heard the light bing that told her the waffles were done.

She lifted the lid of the machine, breathing in the heavenly scent of well-made waffles. She could detect the hints of nutmeg and brown sugar in them as she carefully lifted the finished product out of the machine and onto the plate, being careful not to destroy the masterpieces.

"You can put more batter in now. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell can't live on only one waffle." She agreed with him. As much as she cared about maintaining her petite hourglass figure, there was no way she would be able to resist having more than one of those waffles.

Her small hands carried the batter bowl over to the waffle maker, and she ladled the mixture into the tray, trying hard to keep the batter within its spaces. She succeeded in not dripping any onto the outer part of the waffle maker, and turned around in pride only to walk right into House again.

The bowl went flying up, and while it miraculously managed not to spill any on her, the majority of the batter landed on House, soaking his head and t-shirt with its sweet, rich goodness.

He looked down at his chest, before looking up and grinning at her.

Her eyes tried hard not to crinkle, but the hilarity of Gregory House, world-renowned bastard, covered in waffle batter was an opportunity too good to pass up.

She let out a loud giggle, and House followed suit with his own scarce heard brand of mirth, and they laughed together for a few minutes before Cuddy reached behind him for a dish towel.

She looked into his eyes, eyes that were blue and light and intense and full of happiness and sorrow at the same time, and realized that there really was no way she could ever have gotten over him.

"Now I know that men like chicks covered in mud, but does the same hold true for chicks and men covered in waffle batter?" he asked, his voice teasing and light.

She smiled as she wiped the pale gunk off his chest, and he felt a thrill of electricity at her gentle touch, a touch that could be felt even through dishtowel and batter and t-shirt.

Her crusading piece of fabric reached his face, and her small hands delicately wiped away most of the batter, leaving his face slightly sticky.

She paid special attention to the stubble that had really turned into a light beard, making sure that she got every bit of batter than she could out of the coarse salt and pepper hair that covered his face.

He smiled at her again.

And she smiled back.

And-

And then-

He was kissing her, kissing her like she had never been kissed before, like she would disappear if he didn't show her just how much he wanted her, and she was kissing back; she could taste waffle batter and the dressing for the fruit salad and even a little bit of coffee, and unlike the last time their passion had resulted in a this flurry of lips and tongues and teeth and hands, there was no bitter undertone of liquor, or, more importantly, of Vicodin.

His lips painted patterns on hers, patterns that she wanted to remember for the rest of her life, because she had never felt so good in her life, never so…

She lost herself in the kiss, and allowed her tongue to tangle with his, chasing his lips with hers and letting his sticky hands roam up and down her body.

His intensity surprised her; she had never known that he contained this much passion, this much need to consume her, to take in every last drop of her that he could.

She could hear herself gasping at the sensation of his mouth against hers, and she was sure she heard similar, if lower, sounds coming from House's throat.

His hands found their way to her hair and she was thankful that she hadn't had her shower yet because he was getting waffle batter all over her body and that was when… She came crashing back down to earth.

She shouldn't have been kissing House.

She shouldn't have given in to the man who had screwed her over almost every opportunity she had given him, she shouldn't have let him kiss her in such a way, she shouldn't have forgotten everything in a moment of passion.

She pulled back from their heated embrace, and one look into his ice blue eyes told her that he knew what she was thinking, knew of all the arguments that she was having in her head.

She had a job, a daughter, (and she thought this with a pang of what just might have been regret) a boyfriend.

"House-"

"I know." he said, cutting her off. "You can't do this." She nodded her head, aware for the first time just how saturated she had become with waffle batter.

"Thank you." he said unexpectedly, and went over to the waffle machine, which, thankfully, hadn't had time to burn the waffles yet.

She sat down awkwardly again, her lips still tingling from the feel of House.

"Why?" she asked, after a while.

Why had he thanked her for whatever had just happened between the two of them?

"Why would you thank me for something that shouldn't have happened? Why would you be thankful for the opportunity to torture yourself more over this?"

"Because," he replied, looking at her, a world-weary and disheartening look on his face, a look that nearly cut her in two all over again, "I've already been torturing myself, wondering, for weeks, what that would have felt like. Now I don't have to wonder any more. Now I know." He went back to his salad, and she could hear great thunks where bowl met fruit, and she thought with a thrill of regret that he was probably throwing the apples so forcefully into the bowl because he was angry about what they had done.

And part of Cuddy knew that she wanted nothing more than to get up and return to his arms, to feel his stubble against her skin, to taste the flavour of waffles and citrus and coffee and that something that was uniquely him, something that she could never get from Lucas…

But that…was impossible.

"You going to take a shower?" House asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

"Yeah." she replied, not looking up at him.

Eye contact wasn't an option right now, not when he would see in an instant the emotions swirling around inside her head, the desire for him, the regret, still there after all these weeks, of having hidden everything from him, the need to keep herself in check, not make any mistakes, not screw anything up more than it already had been.

She got up, smoothing out her skirt, an old habit that she had never managed to shake, one that was unnecessary seeing as she was planning on returning to her home, perhaps to a nice cup of tea, and later, when she got home, to Lucas.

"I didn't sleep with her to make you jealous." House said out of the blue, as she exited the kitchen.

She spun around, looking at him in surprise, still looking past his head and around his ever searching eyes.

"She wasn't just there, either." he went on, just as determined to avoid her eyes, equally wary of discovering the truth within them. "She sat down next to me on a bench outside the hospital, and she tried to guilt me into apologizing about Chase. Which, of course, I didn't do. Just pointed out that they were doomed from the start, yadda yadda… She knew I was going all depressed teenager on her, though. My oh-so-subtle sentiments on the inevitability of failure kinda tipped her off. We went back here, to have a few drinks… I wanted to talk. I wanted to hear an opinion that wasn't Wilson whining about how I needed to stop being so self-destructive, or Nolan's constant tirades on improving myself. She was ready to listen. And then of course, comes the pouring out of my heart, and I'm sobbing into her arms, oh, so cliché, gasping for air as I tell her about how I can't see myself being useful anymore, about how I'm never really going to amount to anything. And then she's yelling at me, and I'm yelling at her, and it all just ends with her kissing me, of all things. I realize, I don't need this hopelessness, that there is someone who's willing to just be with me, without worrying about the next day, or the next week, or the next year.

Of course, Wilson had to find us, and go all personal therapist on me, and then you had to come over, and mix things up. It was nice. It was nice to just be wanted, and to be useful for something other than curing the incurable. But even that can't shake the feelings of… well, I'm sure you don't need to hear me moon over you. You probably got enough of that yesterday. Enough pathetic lovesick House for the rest of your damn life."

The bitterness in his voice broke her heart; it made her queasy to think of the many miseries of the man before her.

"I want to hear." she surprised herself by saying, and his eyes widened just slightly enough for her to notice, before thinning back into his usual expression.

"No you don't. You just feel sorry for me, you're asking out of pity."

"I have never felt pity for you, House."

He laughed cynically. "Really? Not even after you and Stacy cut out half my thigh?"

"No," she said, her tone convincing to the average person, but House could hear the tremour in her voice. "I would have pitied you if you had been dead, but never after you had pulled through."

"You're lying." he said, walking up to her. "Just like you've been lying all these months, about everything. We're not good like this; we've never been good like this, not with unresolved issues wedging a huge abyss between us." She had nothing to say after that, and her mouth hung open, no words coming out of it.

"You don't want to be stuck like this, with me throwing myself into my work and treating you like crap, you want our old relationship back, before we kissed, before there was all of this unresolved crap between us. It's stupid. We should fix it."

"We can't." she finally replied, eyes unwillingly brimming with tears. "We can't fix it. It's broken, there's nothing to do about it."

"Oh, god, don't tell me that you're crying." House whined, and for that, she was snapped.

"Yes, House, I am crying! And you know why? Because you have the arrogance to mess with my personal life, assuming that you even have the right to, and you've messed everything up! I was just FINE with Lucas before you had to go and-"

"What, find out? You thought that maybe you and him could have six children and start a homeless shelter without me finding out? Jesus Christ, Cuddy, do you know me at all? I'm possessive and stubborn and irrationally rational and you know that! I think maybe YOU'RE the delusional one this time, because thinking that Lucas, of all people, is the one that will fix your desire for company has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I don't even recognize you, Cuddy. You've been acting like an over-emotional teenage girl who's been screwed over by too many hormonal guys. You've been telling everyone who cares that I'm not mature enough for a relationship, but look at the guy you're with! Look at the way you hid him from me, as if you were feeling ashamed of your dirty little secret." She couldn't even look at him at this point, and that just made him even angrier.

"I don't even know why I want you anymore. You've disappeared into this cautious, defenseless, sickeningly dependant persona, a Dean of Medicine that needs a seedy PI to help her with her illegitimate bastard child. It's ridiculous. I feel like I've been thrust into a soap opera, plot twists and secrets at every turn! You act all self-righteous and superior, but you can't even admit to yourself that the only reason you ever went out with Lucas was to get over me! And you still haven't! You can't even admit to me that you've done something disgustingly wrong, because YOU don't even know who you are anymore!" He was shaking with the effort of shouting, and the hand on his cane was gripping the third leg so tightly his skin had turned a sickly white.

He looked back at her, and her mouth was open in surprise, her eyes brimming over with tears.

"And to think that I made waffles for you." he finished with a harsh mutter, turning away from her.

She barely suppressed a snort at that comment, and he whipped back around at the sound.

"What!?" he practically screamed at her, and she fought the urge to laugh out loud. She had clearly lost it; there was no logical reason to be laughing and making waffles with him one minute, kissing him the next, crying over her own spilt milk, then finding humour in his torment.

"That's your biggest regret in our twisted relationship, making waffles for me? What about the countless hours you've spent plotting my seduction, or the pain of realizing your delusion, or any other horrible thing we've done to each other? Waffles? Seriously, House?"

She continued to look at him incredulously, and grew even more confused when his expression got darker still, his stare increasing in intensity until she was sure he would crack under the strain of maintaining it.

"Waffles," he began, in a light voice that contrasted heavily with the expression on his weathered face. "Were the last thing I had eaten before going to the hospital."

She didn't need to ask what trip to the hospital this had been, for instinct told her that it had been when his leg had started to hurt, a pain that he would come to know for the rest of his life.

"Waffles," he repeated. "Were the last part of my pain-free life. Waffles." And here he paused again, watching her expression change once more to one of melancholy and misery.

"Were what my mother made for me after my father made me spend the night in the backyard."

His words drove a blow straight to her chest, and she staggered, trying to find her footing after she had been thrown off balance.

Her breaths came out in ragged gasps as she struggled for air, the weight of his admissions crushing her chest to the point that any movement was impossible.

She had had no idea.

"Bet you're feeling real awful now, aren't you, Cuddy. Never thought that food could mean so much to me, did you? Maybe you had deluded yourself into thinking that I really was just an evil, heartless sociopath. Well, suck it up, because that's what happened. I had a miserable, abusive childhood, and then right after I had thought everything had finally worked out for me, I became a cripple. Kind of hard to hear from your own father than you'll never amount to anything, harder still for it to actually come true. I wonder what he would say now, knowing that I can't even get my shit straight to get a woman. Probably treat me to one of his lectures about manhood and courage, accuse me of being soft. Bet you never knew that, either, Cuddy, that Gregory House was an emotional wreck, a boy who couldn't stop crying, even when he was faced with punishment for his lack of a spine. Bet you're feeling real bad, right now, for treating me like I would ever intentionally hurt you."

His breath too was coming out in ragged gasps, but it was from the emotional strain he had put himself through in the last few hours.

This conversation was a strange parallel to the one he had had with Cameron; he had never expected to talk about his childhood with someone in a moment of anger, he hadn't wanted to talk to anyone about it except for Nolan and in rare moments, Wilson.

"House-"

"Go home." he said, looking back up at her. "Go home to your perfect child, your perfect boyfriend, your perfect life. I'll be right here, where you left me. Waiting for Wilson to come home."

She sucked in a gasping sob and made to go up to him, but he shrunk away.

"Go home, Cuddy. Being here isn't going to do any of us any good."

And of course, he was right.

So she picked up the few things that she had lying around the apartment, and slid herself out of the door, glancing back one more time to see House on the couch, cradling a guitar.

She was surprised that she could move, she felt like everything she had ever known had been shattered into pieces.

But her car wasn't far, and she got into it, feeling empty, disappointed that she hadn't accomplished anything with him.

On autopilot, the car drove back to her house, and when she got there, she took Rachael from the arms of her babysitter (muttering half-felt apologies to the poor girl) and held her there, as if she were the last thing anchoring her to sanity.

And at this point, she was.