Okay, so Dr. Ball is obviously a Huddy fangirl and a horrible therapist, to boot. But hey, once you've introduced friendship bracelets into the mix, all bets are off. Hope you enjoy.

p.s. No new fics for a little over a week because I'll be in France visiting with Grumpy Doc, Princess Rainbow Puke, Gaiaarky, and Maya. Woot!

"Let's talk more about House," Dr. Ball said.

Cuddy, who was sitting across from him in a chair (in the first session, he'd given her the option of lying on the couch, which she declined—it just seemed like such a cliché to her), gave a little smile.

"Your favorite subject," she said.

"And yours," he replied.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows in a "touché" sort of way.

"What about him?" she said.

"You told me that you two got together the day after you accepted a marriage proposal from Lucas."

"True. . ."

"Didn't you worry then that House was the ultimate rebound relationship?"

Cuddy thought about that for a second.

"No," she said carefully. "Quite the opposite, actually. Lucas was more like the rebound relationship."

"How do you figure?"

"I used him. Not that I realized it at the time. But I think Lucas was just my way of running away from my true feelings for House."

"Why would you do that?"

"Fear I guess."

"Of what?"

"Of . . . everything. Of the intensity of my feelings. Of losing control. Of getting hurt—again. Of bringing someone so . . . volatile into Rachel's life."

"Then what made you change your mind?"

"I just couldn't keep lying to myself. I could pretend to be in love with Lucas, but I wasn't. House was the one I really wanted—the one I had always wanted."

"So you decided to take a leap of faith?"

"Yes," Cuddy said.

"Embrace the imperfect perfection?" he said with a knowing smile. It was a catch phrase Ball used a lot in Cuddy's therapy.

"I guess so," Cuddy said, sheepishly. "Yes."

"And how did it go? Did House live up to your expectations?"

"Actually, no. He was better," Cuddy admitted. "I mean, the good stuff was great, as I knew it would be."

"What good stuff?"

Cuddy looked down, somewhat shyly.

"Well, sex for one," she said quietly. Then she added with a dry chuckle: "House would be thrilled that we're discussing this by the way."

"Why's that?"

"He seems to think that my therapy is like one big Penthouse Forum session where all I do is talk about what a great lover he was."

"How does House even know about our sessions? He's down the hall in rehab, right?"

Oops. Cuddy had hoped to avoid this subject.

"I've, uh, been visiting him," she said.

"Visiting?"

"Yeah, just a few stolen moments here and there—nothing official."

She looked down, smiling reflexively, at her bracelet. "He actually made this for me."

Ball looked at the bracelet vaguely and then did a slight doubletake and looked closer.

"Wow. That's actually really good," he said.

"That's House," Cuddy said, with a shrug.

"So what you guys talk about?"

"Therapy—his and mine. Our lives in general. And, of course, we . . .flirt."

"Flirt?"

"Yeah, House and I always flirt. It's like breathing for us."

"Sounds like once again a line is being blurred," Ball said.

Cuddy gave a little laugh that seemed to imply: "If only you knew."

"What was that laugh for?" Ball asked. (He didn't miss much.)

Cuddy unconsciously began tracing her lower lip with her index finger.

"House and I kissed last week." she admitted. "Well, more like nearly mounted each other in the hallway."

"What stopped you?"

"We were in public!" Cuddy said. "Also . . . Jean Waterson kind of caught us."

"Like a couple of teenagers in love," Ball said.

"More like in heat."

"So it's safe to assume that you and House had a healthy sex life?"

Cuddy raised her eyebrows.

"The best. . ." Then she gave a slightly dirty smile. "But I always knew House was a good lover—even before we began dating."

"How'd you figure?"

"For starters, we hooked up when we were in college."

"I had no idea you two went back that far."

"Oh yeah," Cuddy said. "Suffice it to say, we had a strong physical connection even back then. But that's not how I knew. . . a woman just knows these things."

"How so?"

"Everything about him—his hands, his body, the way he moves, even with that limp. The guy's sex on legs. He's catnip—well, to me at least."

Then she realized she'd said too much. Her face turned red.

"Oh God," she said. "You must think I'm like some sort of pervert."

Ball smiled.

"Quite the opposite. As a therapist, it's refreshing to hear about a couple that's satisfied with their sex life."

He waited for the normal color to return to Cuddy's cheeks before asking: "So. . .what else? What else about House exceeded your expectations?"

Cuddy gave a half-shrug.

"The way he was with Rachel, I guess. I always knew he was going to have to learn to deal with her somehow. I never expected them to bond like that. It was touching."

"Anything else?"

"Just. . . how hard he tried. He really did. House has, like zero social skills. Couldn't care less about what anyone thinks of him. Too busy solving his puzzles and being annoyed with the general stupidity of humanity. But he tried to be a good, normal boyfriend to me. He failed royally, of course, but he tried. . ."

Briefly, Cuddy flashed to House showing up at Sanford Wells' wedding, in his tux. Dancing with her. Even that ridiculous date at the go-cart arena. . .he had tried.

"So despite all his flaws, he really was a good boyfriend, huh?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Cuddy chuckled. "It's just that I expected him to be the worst."

"And yet you loved him."

"I will never not be in love with that man," she admitted. "He's in my blood, you know? Part of my DNA."

"But that wasn't enough," Ball said.

"No. . ." Cuddy said, almost defensively. "There was the selfishness, that we've already talked about. There was his inability to share his pain—or mine. Empathy is not one of his strong suits. And then, of course, he went back on drugs."

"Which you saw as another example of his selfishness," Ball said.

"Another example of his inability to be there for me—yes—when I needed him the most," Cuddy said.

"Let me spin it a different way for you, if I may," Ball said.

"Do I have a choice?" Cuddy asked, ironically.

Ball smiled.

"When you and House were dating, you fought a lot, right?"

"I wouldn't say a lot. . .But we had a few, um, spirited disagreements."

"Usually because he was upset with you?" Ball said, leadingly.

"I see where you're going with this," Cuddy said. "No, usually I was the one who got angry with him. But trust me, he deserved it! I'm a lot more patient with House than most women would be."

"I don't doubt that," Ball said. "They used to call you the House Whisperer around the hospital."

"They did?"

He chuckled.

"I probably shouldn't have told you that. But yes. Your special way of handling Dr. House did not go unnoticed by the staff—and this was long before you two began dating."

"Huh," Cuddy said.

"But let's get back to those times when you guys fought. He never started the fights, did he? Never complained that you weren't being a good enough girlfriend to him? That you hadn't lived up to his expectations?"

"No," Cuddy said, almost laughing at the thought. "House was very satisfied in our relationship."

"When you were mad at him, did you ever kick him out of the house—out of your bed?"

Cuddy shrugged.

"Occasionally."

"How did House feel in those moments?"

"When I sent him packing? Not happy."

"But did he ever use drugs after one of your fights?"

She frowned.

"No, never."

"Is that surprising?"

"No. . .House was very committed to his recovery."

"And yet, ultimately, he did take drugs again. Why?"

"To be with me when I was sick. . .but you knew that already."

For some reason, Cuddy felt her heart beating more quickly in her chest.

"I know. . . I'm just trying to make a point here. You claim that House is selfish, not sufficiently caring. But this man—this man who is 'in your blood,' who's part of your 'DNA' as you so eloquently put it—only got back on drugs so he could be there for you when he thought you were dying."

Dr. Ball studied Cuddy's face. She swallowed.

"Of course, you could say, a grown man should be able to deal with a loved one's illness without resorting to drugs—and I wouldn't necessarily disagree," he continued. "But you could also say that it was the ultimate in self-sacrifice."

"I . . .I never thought of it like that," Cuddy stammered.

"I'm just trying to give you a different perspective."

######

Cuddy was ten minutes late and House's leg was jangling again. Maybe the kiss had gone too far. Maybe he had crossed some sort of invisible line. He never knew with her. She ran so hot and cold with him.

When she finally showed, he deflected with humor, as he always did.

"You're late," he said, smiling. "And here I thought I brought a condom for nothing."

When she didn't smile, he added: "Just kidding. I know you're still on the pill."

When she still didn't smile, he raised his hands, guiltily.

"Whoa. Touchy subject. I'm going to stay here in my neutral corner of the corner. I promise I'll keep my hands where you can see them at all times."

Then he squinted at her, noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red.

"Hey," he said, hopping off the ledge. "What's wrong?"

She exhaled.

"Rough session," she said quietly.

He stared at her dumbly, ill-equipped, as usual to deal with her feelings.

"Do you wanna. . .talk about it?" he asked cautiously.

She looked at him, started to speak, stopped—and suddenly, she was in his arms, hugging him and his shirt was getting wet with her tears.

"Cuddy!" he said, horrified. "Tell me what happened! I can't help you if you don't tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry," she said, in a muffled voice into his shirt.

For a moment, he was filled with dread. She was breaking up with him again. Not that they were officially back together. But it had been feeling like a reconciliation of sorts—or at least a newfound closeness. She was having regrets and didn't know how to break it to him.

He closed his eyes, braced himself.

"What are you sorry about?" he said.

"I'm sorry I made you take drugs!" she said.

This completely threw him off guard.

"What?"

He held her at arm's length and looked at her.

"I'm sorry you relapsed because of me and then I broke up with you," she sniffed. "I'm a horrible person."

He almost laughed, but of course, he couldn't.

"Cuddy, that's a bit of an oversimplification."

"You're in rehab because of me!" she said.

"I'm in rehab because I'm an addict," he said, firmly.

"But you never would've taken the drugs if I hadn't gotten sick."

"We have no way of knowing that. . ." he said.

"And then I dumped you."

"That you did."

"And I feel like shit about it," Cuddy said.

"Hey," he whispered, pulling her back toward him, kissing the top of her head. "I forgive you."
#######

House was packing his stuff into his duffel bag when Dr. Jean Waterson materialized in the doorway.

"Last day, huh?" she said.

"I hope so. Otherwise, me packing up my stuff would just be embarrassing," House replied.

She smiled at him.

"You know, House. They told me you were going to be a jerk, a rule-breaker, and the ultimate therapeutic challenge. Two out of three ain't bad."

"Now that you mention it, I did follow all the rules, didn't I?" he said.

"Oh yeah, you and Dr. Cuddy sneaking off in the corner to play kissy-face was totally by-the-book."

"Allegedly playing kissy-face," House said.

She smiled.

"I'm going to miss you around here. Yes, you were a challenge—but you worked hard and you deserve to go home."

House looked down for a second.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"And now I'm going to hug you."

"I really wish you wouldn't," he said.

"Sorry. Non-negotiable."

And she walked over and gave him a warm hug.

"House, you have so many gifts—and I'm not just talking about your medical mind," she said, when she let go. "Don't let them go to waste."

#####

House stood in Cuddy's office and cleared his throat loudly.

"Dr. Gregory House," he said, "reporting for duty."

And he saluted.

"They let you out!" she said, beaming at him.

"Indeed. I officially have the urine of a newborn baby. But the real question is. . .am I un-fired?"

"You were never officially fired," she said, laughing. "But yes, you are un-fired."

"Sweet."

"In fact, get out of here. Your team is totally stumped by their latest case."

"Color me stunned."

He had just started to leave when Cuddy tentatively said, "House?"

He turned.

"Yeah?"

"Once you get settled back in. . .no rush, but I was thinking maybe you could come over for dinner? Rachel's pretty excited to see you."

"Once I get settled," he agreed.

He took a few more steps to the door. "Okay, I'm settled," he said.

She laughed again.

"Tonight? 7 o clock?" she said.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."
#####

His team was discussing their latest patient, who was exhibiting all the classic signs of airborne poisoning, but they couldn't pinpoint the source.

"Check his house and his place of work," House said.

"Already did," Chase said.

"Well, check again."

"We don't need to check again," Chase insisted. "We went over it with a fine-tooth comb."

"Well, the guy didn't poison himself," House said. He furrowed his brow. "Unless. . .?"

They all looked at him expectantly.

"I'm joking you morons. He didn't poison himself."

"Good to have you back House," Taub said.

"His wife mentioned something about him making puppets," Foreman suddenly recalled.

"Like Elmo and Big Bird?" House asked.

"Those are Muppets," Taub said.

"Thank you, Gonzo," House replied.

Taub shot him a look.

"No," Foreman said. "Puppets. Like, hand-crafted, paper mâché puppets. Those things are big. The guy has to have a studio someplace."

Chase pulled out his cellphone and called the patient's wife. When he hung up, he said: "She says he works out of an artist loft on top of an industrial dry cleaners in Trenton."

"Those places are loaded with chemicals," Taub said.

"Go. Find. Do," House ordered.

As they all got up to leave, House said: "A moment of your time, Foreman."

"I'll catch up," Foreman said to Chase and Taub. Then he turned to House: "What's up?"

House gave him a slightly searching look. He hesitated.

"Uh, good catch on the puppet thing," he said finally.

It clearly was not what he had intended to say, but it was something.

"Thanks," Foreman said. Then he grinned: "Welcome back House. We missed you."

And he ran off to catch up with Taub and Chase.

#####

House heard tiny, eager footsteps and then some fumbling with the knob as Rachel opened the door.

"Howse!" she said.

She hugged both his legs, hard—exactly as she had been taught not to do. He didn't even mind the pain.

"Hiya kid," he said.

She thrust her friendship bracelet in his face.

"You made this!" she said.

"True," he said.

"And it's black and yellow cause those are bumblebee colors and I'm a cool kid cause I like bumblebees."

"Equally true," he said.

Cuddy came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

"I see the one-child welcoming committee let you in," she said.

House smiled.

"She did," he said. "And I feel extremely welcome."

Then he took in Cuddy's appearance—jeans, a somewhat tight tee-shirt, plus makeup and heels. (The heels and makeup were a good sign—she was trying to look good for him.)

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied. He awkwardly handed her a bouquet of flowers. "For you."

"Not necessary House. But . . . thank you. They're beautiful."

He shrugged.

"Wanna play in my room?" Rachel said. "I got new Barbies we can run over with trucks!"

"Cool," House said.

"Just for 10 minutes Rach, dinner is almost ready," Cuddy said.

And Rachel grabbed House's hand and impatiently yanked him toward her bedroom.

#####

What was weird about dinner was how, well, not weird it was.

Rachel yammered on cheerfully about bumblebees and friendship bracelets and House gave Cuddy grief for her cooking, and Cuddy complained about some bureaucratic hoops she had to jump through at the hospital, and instead of feeling awkward and stiff, it felt normal—inevitable even.

After Rachel went to bed, House started for the door.

"Thanks for dinner Cuddy. It meant a lot to me," he said.

"Where are you going?" she said, surprised.

"Home," he said. "I don't want to . . . overstep my bounds."

"You're not," she said. "I want you to stay."

House hesitated, scratched his head.

"I just. . .I need to know this is real, Cuddy. Because it's real to me. And if it's not real to you, I'm not sure I can . . ."

She cut him off, put her finger on his lips.

"It's real to me too," she said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you again, House. I promise."

He closed his eyes.

"You say that now. . .But last time. . ."

"I've changed," she said. "And before you lecture me about how no one changes: Bullshit! We've both come a long way in a short time."

"Your ability to have an argument with me without my saying a word is a skill, Cuddy," he said, amused.

She laughed.

"I'm serious!" she said.

"I know you are," he said, with a tiny, adoring smile.

"House, in some ways, I think I needed that intervention as much as you did."

"How do you mean?"

"It got me looking at my own mistakes, my own regrets, my own choices."

"That's . . . good," he said, cautiously.

"It got me to realize that our relationship is flawed, because all things in life are flawed—even great things. But you have to hold on to the great stuff, when you're lucky enough to get it."

"And I'm the great stuff?" he asked, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, you're the great stuff," she said, taking his hand.

"I think you're pretty great, too," he said.

"Then don't leave," she said. She brought his hand to her mouth.

"Okay," he said. "I won't leave."

And he enveloped her in his arms.

Epilogue

"Happy birthday, Mom," House said into the phone.

"Thank you, Greg," Blythe said.

"You don't look a day over 77!"

"I'm 76!"

"Oh," he said. "In that case. . ."

"You're bad, Greg!"

"Hey mom. I've got someone here who wants to say something to you."

He handed over the phone.

"Happy birthday, Blythe," Rachel said shyly. "I made you a fwiendship bwacelet."

And then she handed the phone quickly back to House

"That was Rachel, in case you were wondering," House said. "Cuddy has not developed a speech impediment."

"She sounds precious House!"

"She is," House said. "Anyway, the elder Cuddy also wants to talk to you."

"Happy birthday!" Cuddy said brightly. "Did you get the gift I sent you?"

"I'm looking at it right now. I love it."

"Oh good! Does it match your decor?"

"Perfectly. Like it came with the house."

"I'm glad. . .and we have one more gift coming. But I'm going to let your son tell you about it."

She handed House back the phone.

"Ma? Got plans next weekend?"

"None that I can think of."

"You do now. We're coming for a visit."

"We?"

"Me. The kid. Cuddy."

"Greg, you haven't come to visit me in. . .well, I can't remember when the last time was."

"I'm a good influence!" Cuddy yelled, giggling, in the background.

"She is," House said. Then, more gently he said: "I'm really looking forward to seeing you mom."

"I don't know what to say. I'm absolutely elated!" Blythe said.

"Yeah," House said, looking over at Rachel and Cuddy. "Me too."

THE END