Jess woke up when House came to bed, late, after Wilson had left. His noisy, slightly drunken undressing disturbed her and she was then unable to get back to sleep. She watched him sleep, the steady rise and fall of his chest a marked contrast to the chaotic whirl of her thoughts, her guilty conscience marching her like a condemned prisoner to the gallows, forcing her to relive the events that had led to the coming interview on Monday.
It had only started four months ago, but it felt like a lifetime.
Back then, Jess had been nothing less that joyful at hearing the news that in six months Julie Walters would be receiving a tacky gold watch and a lame farewell party with cheap champagne and dried orange cubes of something passing for cheese. She'd done what any upwardly mobile, career-hungry, well-networked PR practitioner would have done: made a coffee meeting with Dr Lisa Cuddy. Surprisingly, Jess had actually liked her.
Dr Cuddy had given her a frank and full run down of what the hospital would be looking for if – Julie Walters hadn't officially resigned just yet – if they were looking for a new head of PR. And she'd specifically mentioned the ability to handle one of their star doctors as a prerequisite – giving his name as if Jess didn't already know exactly who she was talking about.
He had no idea, but Dr Gregory House was pretty much the reason Julie had become such a legend in PR circles. Princeton Plainsboro was rarely in the media in a negative light, despite the fact that they employed one of the most sued doctors in the state. Those outside the PR or journalism professions probably hardly realised what she did – certainly none of the doctors would give it a second thought, especially not Dr House.
And so Jess, carefully calculating Lisa Cuddy's desire to keep the upper hand in their transaction, had asked for her advice. So, if one did want to take over from Julie Walters, what would she suggest? Dr Cuddy had smiled a tight, knowing smile. Research, she'd answered.
Jess had casually mentioned that she'd be speaking at an infectious diseases conference in LA next month. Was Dr House thinking of attending?
They'd exchanged a look and Jess knew that what had just happened had been a job interview. Sure, she had to meet the board and go through the proper process, but she could see right then, right there, that Dr Lisa Cuddy wanted her for the job. And was prepared to help that outcome along.
Dr House might be encouraged to attend, Cuddy had said.
A few weeks later, at the conference, when the voice had piped up from the back of the room with some ridiculous question about whether or not she'd ever deliberately infected journalists to get rid of them, she knew it was him. She'd sought him out afterwards, flattered him by saying she'd thought his questions were funny – all the while really thinking he was obnoxious and wondering if he was worth putting up with for the sake of her dream job.
Before she knew it he'd invited her out for dinner and then somehow, some magical transformation had taken place. He was witty, charming and all together very sexy. He made her feel pretty, and funny, and intelligent and desirable. And in her hotel room later – even now she wasn't sure exactly how that had happened – he gave her the best orgasm she'd ever had with someone else in the room.
Then, back in Princeton things had moved unbelievably fast, but it had all felt so natural. The fact that sleeping with him – let alone basically moving in with him – might not be in the best interests of the job that had been the reason she'd sought him out in the first place? Well, that she had somehow been able to push to the back of her mind. Guilt about it had crept up on her now and then, but until this week, until the interview, she'd been able to live with it, asking him to keep their relationship secret, convincing him it was in both their professional interests.
She knew how sensitive he was behind that gruff exterior, how hard it had been for him to trust her and let himself care for her. Greg House was really a fragile creature. He didn't trust easily. And he didn't forgive breaches of that trust. The fact that there was no way to reconcile that knowledge with her idea that if he learned about this he would simply be able to shrug and move on, that was what was keeping her awake.
Still single in her late thirties, Jess knew from experience how difficult it was to find the right guy. She thought she'd done it once, a long time ago: turned out she was wrong. Big time wrong. Fourteen weeks' pregnant and thinking that a diamond ring was as much a part of her future as nursery wallpaper, he'd walked out, suddenly deciding he wasn't ready for parenthood. Ironic, as it turned out, because the baby decided not to stick around either, and Jess was left horribly, miserably alone.
Perhaps that's why she and Greg had bonded so instantly, recognising another lost, lonely soul. She'd never told him about that part of her history, not wanting to revisit it herself. But it had left its scars on her. Perhaps not as visible as the scars on his thigh, but just as deep and – occasionally – just as painful.
--
House woke reasonably early – well, early for a Sunday, for him. Jess was still sleeping soundly, but his leg was growing stiff from lying in bed, so he got up and closed over the bedroom door, making himself coffee and turning on the TV.
He stared at it blankly for a while, his thoughts otherwise occupied. Recalling his conversation with Wilson, checking back in with himself to make sure it hadn't been an aberration, that he did still feel the same way. Did he really want to marry Jess?
He did.
He had a ring. It had belonged to his grandmother and he was pretty sure he knew where it was – at the back of the second drawer in his desk. A faded, brown, silk-covered box. His mother had wanted him to give it to Stacy, he never had. But it wasn't really an engagement ring, just a band of alternating sapphires and diamonds. He wondered what Jess would think if he gave it to her. Would she be delighted? Or see it as second-rate to a proper one-carat solitaire? He liked to think he knew her well enough to know that she'd be pleased and touched by the family history – would know that it spoke of a deep, abiding connection. But. His self confidence, his pride, his whatever … The thought of putting himself out there like that, just asking for rejection, was terrifying to the point of paralysis.
Then Jess appeared in her PJs, looking cute and sleepy and beautiful enough for him to wonder what on earth he'd done to deserve a woman like that walking out of his bedroom, sitting on his sofa, cuddling herself into his arms.
"Well you had a big sleep in," he chastised, making out that he'd been up for hours when in reality it had only been enough time to drink a cup of coffee and eat a bowl of fruit loops.
"I was awake half the night," Jess complained, pulling out of his embrace and heading for the kitchen. "I couldn't sleep. My tummy was too full of meat."
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'll make you full of meat. Get back over here."
"You're gross." She made them both fresh coffees before returning to the living room and joining him on the sofa. She took a sip and then put the cup down, leaning into him, complaining about the rainy, cold morning.
House put an arm around her and drew her body close to his, a hand sneaking around to squeeze her breast.
"Oh, so it's that kind of morning is it?" Jess asked with a sly grin.
"It's always that kind of morning when you wander around my apartment in these scraps you call pyjamas." House plucked at one of the spaghetti straps of her silky camisole top. He leant into to kiss her and soon their hands were exploring each others' bodies, re-learning the shapes and contours they already knew so well. Just as things were about to move to the next level, they were interrupted by Jess's cell phone.
"Don't answer it," House said, his lips against her ear. "I made that mistake last night."
She shrugged and pulled away. "You know I have to." She reached over to her purse and grabbed the phone, flipping it open. "Jessica Mitchell."
House sat back and sipped his coffee, wondering how she could sound so normal, so professional, given what he'd just been doing to her.
"Well, I doubt one of our doctors said that…" She rose from the couch and wandered off into the bedroom away from his potential distractions.
House could vaguely hear her side of the conversation. It sounded similar to other phone calls he'd overheard her take and House could guess it was a journalist, and that Jess was once again defending one of St Mary's doctors against a patient's complaints to the media.
She returned to the living room with a frown on her face.
"You have to go," House guessed.
"Yes. I'm sorry, they're on deadline and threatening to run the story if I don't get back to them by twelve."
"And you love this job?" House asked. His tone was sarcastic, but it was an honest question. "You want to do this at Princeton Plainsboro?"
She gave him an earnest look. "Wouldn't you want me watching your back if this was you? If Fox News had the inside running from some patient you'd insulted?"
That was it. That serious look. The almost-pout. The sparkle in her green eyes that seemed to be always there, no matter what mood she was in. House knew he was gone. She had him, heart and soul.
She leant over to him on the sofa and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
"We'll talk later, right?" She ran into the bedroom and House heard her shower briefly, dress and then gather her things together. With a brief goodbye she headed out the door, closing it quietly behind her.
"Ah Jess," he said to the empty room. "In the ineffable words of David Cassidy, I think I love you."
He got up and went over to the desk, pulling out the second drawer.