Hi everyone!

Here's another part of First Times.

Time set: season 2 "Who's Your Daddy" – Pretext: Cuddy's desire to have a baby – Motive: Practical – First move: House.

Not the most original subject, I know, but it's kind of a classic, too. I mean, there're lots of authors out there who , I'm sure, have tackled the subject of Cuddy's desire to have a child so, well, there you go... Somehow it was inevitable that I would, one day, want to add my two fan-fictional cents to it… I think some of you even left me a prompt about it in their reviews before... Anyway, I tried to do it in a not too much predictable way, though - given the obvious outcome - and I hope it works as it is. To be honest, I can't really decide if I'm plainly satisfied with it but it seems like I can't change it either so, eventually, it is how it is and I still hope you'll enjoy reading it a little for what it's worth… :)

** I'M HERE IF YOU NEED ME **
First Times series #5

Cuddy was quietly absorbed in her paperwork when House barged in her office. The sound of his entrance was so theatrically characteristic, and she was so used to it that she didn't flinch, even less bother lifting her head. There was a fleeting pause during which she could picture him standing in front of her, just across her desk, stubbornly staring at her until she would deign to look up.

As she didn't, she heard him sigh resignedly before he finally said: "What did you want the other day when you came to my office?"

The lead-in was quite unexpected, and it slightly took her off guard. She finally raised her face and looked at him, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Come again?"

"The other day, after I gave you your hormonal shot," he clarified, dangerously calm, "you came to my office, and I was under the impression that you wanted to ask me something. What was it?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she thought, panic slowly invading her and making her blush.

"Nothing," she quickly dismissed, looking down again to avoid his gaze and pretending to go back to her files. "I just wanted to say thank you."

He took a step closer to the edge of her desk and she could see the shadow of his lean body tower over her.

"Oh no," he said, with unmistakable amusement in his voice. "That was not what it was about…"

She took a deep breath and dropped her pen before looking up at him once more. His blue eyes were intensely scrutinizing her, and she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen.

"House," she warned, as unaffected as her thudding pulse allowed her to sound, "I have work to do. You have work to do. Go back to your office, do your job and let me do mine."

He tilted his head to the side and kept staring at her, intrigued, as if he were studying the pieces of a challenging puzzle and then he straightened up and spun around, directing the sound of his voice toward the exit door.

"NO, Dr. Cuddy," he shouted extravagantly, faking outrage. "I will NOT have SEX with YOU in your office. This is against HR policy in this hospital!"

She promptly shot up and practically ran around her desk to get near him, grabbing him by the bicep and swirling him around, forcing him to face her.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" she hissed through clenched teeth, glaring furiously at him.

Standing there, right next to him, with her hand clutching his upper arm, she suddenly realized that they were in the direct line of sight of the nurse counter in the clinic, outside her office. With a swift checking glance, she saw a few of the nurses were looking in her direction, their curiosity unmistakably aroused. She instantly released her grasp on House's arm and dropped her hand down along her thigh, conspicuously staring back at the few observers with that HBIC's smile of hers that screamed: 'everything's under control, it's not at all what it looks like'... The female employees nodded, somehow empathically, before hastily going back to their work, acting like nothing had happened.

But the seed, more efficient than a warning sign, had been planted, and in a way, Cuddy now knew that House was ready to escalate that sick little game of his and do whatever extravagant, embarrassing thing it would require to get her to answer. And he perfectly knew that as well, if the victorious, self-satisfied beam he was displaying was any indication.

"Ask me," he said, the sound of his voice lowering to a level more suitable for private conversation.

His eyes were filled with mischief and his body was radiating alpha male self-confidence, as he was staring down at her, waiting for her to confess.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stated, somewhat bravely, taking a step back and squaring her shoulders in a sort of defying manner.

"Oh yes, you do!" he chuckled, amused by her haughty stubbornness. "Go on, I'm giving you another chance to ask," he provoked, leaning toward her and closing the distance between them again.

Cuddy set her lips firmly and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nostrils to try and control her agitated breaths. There was positively no way she was going to admit what crazy thought had indeed crossed her mind that day, when she'd found herself in his office, almost on the verge of asking him to father her child.

What kind of fever of dementia had taken hold of her that day, she couldn't tell but she knew for sure that, had she said it, it'd probably have been the most stupid move in her entire life and she was thankful for whatever rational power had prevented her from actually asking, which would have no doubt given him endless reasons of making a complete fool out of her, day after day, for having thought about it in the first place…

House, a father? The father of her child on top of that? Tsk, what was she thinking, and why would the idea even cross her mind? No woman with an ounce of responsibility and good senses would have ever considered that an option and she was a responsible woman, goddammit! She knew better… didn't she?

"House, I don't have time for this," she said as she grabbed him by the elbow and gently, but firmly, led him toward the exit, unequivocally letting him know that the conversation was over.

She didn't want to talk about that, and even less with him. She was not going to let him rule over her and decide what they should discuss or not. After all, it was none of his business: In the end, she hadn't said anything that day and there was no reason why she should speak now, while the subject was obviously closed for good. She almost had a dangerously inappropriate slip of a tongue, but thankfully it didn't happen so now it was over!

"You know, that's too bad," he half-protested as they approached the door, "coz I would have said yes…"

She froze right on the spot and gawked at him stunned. She sure didn't expect that, at all.

"Wha…What?" she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Once more, she caught the intrigued glance of one of the nurses in the clinic and she shot her a daring half-glare. The woman looked down, embarrassed, and Cuddy closed the door to her office, trotting back inside with a determined pace. She headed to her desk and sat on her chair, collecting herself as much as she could. House turned around slowly and approached her again, his chest inflated with pride as he was obviously happy with himself because of the little bombshell he'd just dropped.

"You heard me," he said, matter-of-factly. "I'm willing to be your baby daddy if that's what you want."

She rolled her eyes upward and forced a mocking laugh out of her throat.

"That's ridiculous, House. I never said—"

"You're right. You never said. But that doesn't mean you didn't think about it."

She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it after a second, then opened it again, struggling to find something to say that would erase that infuriating look of smugness on his face. When she failed to find a witty comeback, she briefly averted her gaze, before looking back at him, half-defeated.

"That was a mistake," she finally said, partially confessing within that simple admission what she had, indeed, considered asking him that day.

"I don't think so," he replied full of self-assurance. "I'm not just your best option, Cuddy. Let's face it I'm also your only one."

This time, she didn't have to force herself to laugh. She looked at him and burst into a very liberating fit of laughter.

"Yeah, sure," she finally managed to say, catching her breath. "Listen House, I'm, erm, very flattered that you accepted an offer I technically didn't even hand to you but I think I'll be fine without your help."

"Maybe you will. Maybe you won't. Depends on how much you really want that baby," he teased, not the least bit affected by her obvious cynicism, or at least perfectly hiding it.

She frowned, suddenly feeling uncomfortable because of the way he looked so unnervingly sure of himself in that instant. But he was wrong. Of course, she had other options! Plenty of them, even…

They silently stared at each other a little while longer, defiantly, none of them wanting to cave first. After what felt like an eternity, House rested both his hands atop his cane's handle and leaned down toward her.

"Ok, then!" he exclaimed with a mysterious, undecipherable smile. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Then, he turned on his heel and headed to the door. After he exited her office, swinging the door opened in his most theatrical fashion, he limped past the nurse that had been spying on him and Cuddy earlier and gave her a knowing look.

"She's not in the mood after all," he declared solemnly, as if sharing a dirty secret. "So, we rescheduled."

The nurse stared at him, mouth agape and then glanced at Cuddy, who was still seated at her desk and, from her point of view, looked completely flustered, as she was staring blankly in front of her. Cuddy finally seemed to register the nurse's look on her and the young woman gave her a sorry smile but when Cuddy smirked back, upset, she swiftly looked away and pretended to be busy rearranging the flowers inside the vase on the counter.

# # # # #

As if on cue, her period started later that afternoon, making her sadly aware that her body was still ready to welcome a baby while, at the same time, her womb remained painfully empty, which made her feel useless and old. She tried to tell herself it was just the hormones speaking and that the fact that she was feeling down was only a natural reaction at that time of month but, actually, there was more to it than this simple explanation and she couldn't deny the truth any longer.

Yet, from then on, forcefully pushing House's proposition to the back of her mind, cursing herself when conflicting, disturbing thoughts had her weigh the pros and cons of it when she least expected them, Cuddy proceeded to find a solution by herself. As long as it didn't involve House, she was willing to consider every other option she would have.

In two weeks, she interviewed seven more potential sperm donors, each time feeling more desperate than the previous time, when she was faced with the cruel, awful inadequacy of reality. All those men may have looked good on paper, some perfect even, but whenever she would actually meet them, face to face, she always ended up convincing herself that this or that, a tiny, almost invisible little detail, was absolutely and definitely crippling.

Sometimes it was, rightly, something in the family history that made her suspect the probability of a genetic disease – even though it was lower than the normal 0, 05% chance. Some other times, undeniably pickier, it was the color of the eyes, the shape of the nose, the bone structure, the height… When she met the last one of the candidates, who, after a half-hour interview, seemed to have brilliantly passed all the steps and yet, she still couldn't help but flinch at the choice of his tie color that didn't match his shirt, Cuddy realized that she would never be satisfied: Even if the most satisfying solution had presented itself in its shining armor right in front of her, she still wouldn't have recognized it.

She refused to acknowledge the reasons why, certainly afraid of the obvious answer at this point, but she decided to stop the "auditioning process" nonetheless. She still had options. At least, that's what she kept repeating to herself.

Had House noticed the presence of the guys coming in the hospital to meet her? It didn't seem so. During that time, he quietly stayed away from her, remaining almost suspiciously inconspicuous and distant, up to a point where she sometimes surprised herself checking for his presence behind the blinds of her office while she was with a sperm donor candidate, maybe even wishing for him to barge in at times. But he never showed. Not even once.

In fact, he was barely around anymore and in two weeks' time, she practically didn't hear about him, except when she had to sign forms for some medical procedures, he was asking her approval on. Approvals, she noticed, that each time, he'd sent one member of his team to get from her, instead of showing up in her office himself. It became disconcerting.

She wondered if he actually cared about what she was going through and if all of that supposedly grand gesture of him wasn't, in fact, just an act, selfishly opportunistic. Surely, she told herself, if she'd been stupid enough to accept his offer, he'd have reminded her how much she was indebted to him until the end of times and probably beyond and she would have never heard the end of it.

Still, one morning, he managed to let her know that he hadn't forgotten her at all via an email he'd sent her the day when she'd met the seventh and last, potential sperm donor. She found it the morning after, while opening her inbox. It had no subject, it was sent from a weird email address that wasn't his, and it wasn't even signed but she knew it was him, without the shadow of a doubt, when she read the single, short sentence on her screen:

"Come on, Cuddy, you know you can do better than that…"

Her first, spontaneous reaction was to feel relief. Relief that he still cared, that he still spied on her, somehow and, above all, that he was letting her undeniably know that his offer was still up. But then, when she actually realized where her mind was taking her with that thought, she fought it back. She chased the idea away, again, and instead decided that she didn't need House at all, even more stubbornly and resolutely than before.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

Truth is, she didn't have as many options left as she desperately wanted to believe she had. She thought about reconsidering the other sperm donors' files that she had rejected at first but, House was right: She could do better than that! Except, she didn't really know how…

Another week passed without anything happening until, one morning, three weeks after House's crazy proposition, Cuddy arrived in her office and found a small packet, wrapped in Kraft paper, on her desk. She unwrapped it, intrigued, as she knew it had to come from House. When she opened the gift box, she let out a groan of frustration. Inside the packet was an alarm clock. A very unnerving, very conspicuously ticking clock. No doubt, it was provocation.

Consequently, and even though she wasn't exactly proud of herself, Cuddy called one of the hospital benefactors whom she knew was quite unsubtly not insensible to her charms. But as the saying goes 'desperate situations call for desperate remedies.' And the guy was, predictably, certainly happy to hear from her, so getting him to invite her on a 'date' was a piece of cake.

They agreed on Wednesday night, the following week. Cuddy wasn't sure how she was going to bring up the subject of becoming a sperm donor, but she thought she'd figure something out: After all, if the guy liked her, she'd give him a good reason to show her how much.

The next week, on Wednesday afternoon, a stunning bouquet of roses was delivered to her office. The flowers came with a card and Cuddy opened it, smiling, reading the gesture as a good presage: If a man were enough of a gentleman to send flowers before a date, it could only mean her plan would turn out great. When she actually read the card, though, her smile instantly faded. The message on the card read:

"Not sure Doug's wife will be thrilled with the idea of sharing her husband's sperm with another woman."

WHAT. THE. HELL?

It was one thing already that she had to learn from him that Douglas was a married man, but how in God's name did House know she was supposed to meet him that day? And even more so, how did he know the reason why?

That's when she realized she was screwed.

It was best to admit it for good: She would indeed never find the ideal father for the child she wanted to have. Ideal no, but… Suddenly, her mind wandered back to the day when she and House were together in that clinic exam room. What had he said to her?

"You should know: Genes matter. Who you are matters. Find somebody you trust. Someone you like."

She took a deep breath and strode out of her office determinedly. She found him napping in exam room one with an opened comic book sprawled atop his face.

"House!" she exclaimed, bursting in.

He jumped, startled, and sat up straight to face her.

"Have you been spying on me?"

He smiled, devilishly and tilted his head to the side.

"Hello yourself, Dr. Cuddy! Is there something you wanna ask me, maybe?" he teased.

She sighed, showing her exasperation, and closed the door behind her. They sized each other up for a while.

"Fine," she finally said, crossing her arms in front her chest. "You were right. I have no options left."

"Me, right? Shocking—"

"Shut up!" she cut him off. "You know why I'm here."

House rubbed his chin pensively and stared at her, his eyes glittering with mischief.

"Uhm, no, really," he declared, deliberately playing with her nerves. "Why are you here?"

"Does your offer still stand?" she asked after a beat, looking him straight in the eyes with as much poise as she could muster.

He cocked an eyebrow and peered more intensely at her, waiting. Of course, he wasn't going to make it easy for her! Cuddy puffed, aggravated, but inwardly urged herself to remain calm.

"About, err-" she cleared her voice, "fathering my child."

He studied her for an extra, endless minute, perfectly unruffled. She was beginning to squirm in discomfort when he finally voiced his answer.

"Yes," he said.

"Good," she replied, exhaling in one puff all the air she'd been holding in her lungs within that single syllable.

"Good," he echoed, smiling.

"So, err-" She reached for the door handle, ready to leave, and eyed him up one last time. "You, well… let me know when it's done and… I'll take it from there."

She was about to open the door when he said, "Don't think I'll need to let you know when it's done, coz I'm pretty sure you'll be the first one to know!"

She froze, not sure she'd understood what he'd just meant.

"Excuse me?"

"Uhm, you know, when a guy hugs a girl really, really tight, there's a tiny baby seed that goes in-"

Her eyes widened in shock.

"What?" he went on, unimpressed. "Geez, Cuddy, I wonder if you're a real doctor sometimes! I mean, you do know how babies are made, right?"

She rolled her eyes and snickered.

"The only place your 'baby seed' is going into is inside a sterile cup. In a lab!"

"Nuh-uh," he said, shaking his head 'no.'

"Uh-uh," she replied, nodding theatrically. "Don't be stupid House, what else did you have in mind?"

He stared at her with a 'doh' face.

"Nice try, but no." she said, resolutely. "See, I am actually a doctor, which is why I know there're other ways to procreate than the one you're thinking about."

"Then, you also know that the success rate is under 15%. Even drops to 9% for women your age. Science can beat Nature, sure, but there's still billiards of people who successfully do it the 'old-fashioned way.' Not by mixing gametes and oocytes in a cup like they're testing cocktail recipes!"

She stared at him, speechless.

"You do remember it's been over three weeks since you had your last injections of menotropins, right?" he went on, pushing himself off of the exam table and standing up. "You missed your chances at having a taking of your oocytes. You'll have to wait for another cycle—"

"This is not gonna happen."

"Tick-tock, tick-tock!"

She looked down at her feet and closed her eyes. He was right: IVF was a long and painful process. And she was not twenty anymore. And he, God damn him, he… with his smug smile, his self-confidence, his lean, tall body and those eyes… She clenched her fists along her thighs and took a deep breath.

"Fine!" he said, making her jump when she realized he was now standing right beside her.

He leaned down, dangerously close to her face and she felt suddenly breathless. For a fleeting instant, they locked eyes and then, without a warning, he threw his arm around her to grab the handle behind her back. She took one step aside and he opened the door, walking past her.

"Good luck with Doug tonight, then!" he added, exiting the room.

She didn't think. Acting on pure impulse, she seized him by the arm and stopped him.

"Wait!"

He looked down at her hand then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze, a wide smile drawn on his lips.

# # # # #

They tackled the practical details first: According to her cycle, her next ovulation was not supposed to happen until another three weeks. Two and a half at the earliest. She agreed to take her temperature meticulously every day at the same time to check for the drop that'd confirm the date. He mischievously offered to come over in the mornings and take it himself and that's when she first scowled at him. But he looked like a little boy on Christmas Eve: His excitement was impossible not to register and she briefly wondered why the idea of her possibly being pregnant with his child eventually could make a man like him look so… happy? She felt the need to clarify that aspect to make sure he clearly understood that his implication in the process would not be required farther than the step of procreation.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Cuddy," he quickly dismissed.

"House," she gently scolded. "This is not a… a Gameboy we're talking about! We're talking about a child."

"Your child."

"And yours, too."

He shrugged and looked away.

"When I say you don't have to be involved beyond conception, it doesn't mean I wouldn't let you… if you want to… and—"

"Well, obviously, I'm not going to play baseball with him if that's what you mean!" he spat bitterly, brandishing his cane up in the air.

She bit her lip.

"That's not what I'm saying, That's—"

"Cuddy-" He sighed, looking uncomfortable. "There's not even a zygote undergoing cell division at this point. Hell, my swimmers haven't even met your egg, yet."

He looked upset all of a sudden and she understood she was probably pushing him too far in uncomfortable territory, too fast. He was right, as usual: It was too soon to talk about that, even though something inside her mind kept whispering to her that this was a subject they'd need to discuss eventually no matter how reluctant he seemed to be.

"Why are you willing to do this?" she asked him out of the blue.

"You want a baby. All those losers that you've interviewed in the past weeks aren't gonna meet your expectations. I am," he answered, cryptically, looking her in the eyes with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She sucked in a sharp breath and inwardly prayed not to let the dangerously familiar sensation overcome her too much: This is just an arrangement, practical and convenient, she reminded herself. Nothing more.

"How are we going to do this?" she asked with a steady voice, all business again. "I mean… where?" she clarified when he stared at her quizzically.

"Oh, right, the 'my place or your place' eternal question of logistics. Finally, we're getting to the point!" he said with a playful smile.

"I'd rather we don't do it at my place," she said, with a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.

"Ok. My place, then," he replied unfazed, settling the question with pragmatism.

"I…err—"

"What?" he said, losing his patience a little.

"It's, uh-" She bit her lower lip to hide her discomfort. "I mean, I don't think this is a good idea. Both my place or yours are too… personal—"

"Cuddy! We're going to have sex, do the naughty, hump each other… fuck!" he exclaimed, clearly exasperated.

She glared at him.

"Don't you think we'll be past the 'personal' stage at this point?"

"Not at my place, or yours," she repeated stubbornly, jutting her chin up challengingly.

He heaved a deep sigh and closed his eyes for a split second.

"Fine. So now what? Do we need to book an exam room for D-day? Or would you rather do it… where? In your office? Mine?" She kept staring at him, in silent. "Oh. My. God, you naughty girl! Wilson's?" he added with ostentatious theatrical effect, and she couldn't repress a smile.

"I was thinking about a hotel room," she deadpanned.

He froze and seemed to contemplate her suggestion for a moment.

"Hotel? Ok. Great!" he finally said, with a look of satisfaction on his face. "I'll take care of the reservation."

"I can do it."

"No, I will," he said, with a definite tone.

"Ok." She squinted at him and searched in his eyes for hints that'd help her decipher what he was thinking about then, but his gaze remained inscrutable.

She opened the door of the exam room and started to walk out.

"This is going to be fun!" he exclaimed, just as she was stepping out.

She imperceptibly slowed down, gripping the door handle tighter but, just as she was about to turn around and send a witty comeback, she decided against it and shut the door close without making any further comment. Passing by her staff in the clinic, she walked back to her office with her most assertive pace all the while trying to ignore the weakness she was feeling in her legs.

# # # # #

A few days later, Cuddy had her period again, but this time, she felt a strange excitement at the idea that it meant she'd now be counting the days to her next ovulation. And, to her ovulation only, she told herself immediately because that's exactly what it was and nothing else. It certainly had nothing to do with counting the days to something else… like, being in a hotel room… with him…

Days passed by and the crucial date approached, ineluctably. According to her cycle, which thankfully had always been regular, she knew she was supposed to ovulate on a Sunday. It was oddly convenient because it meant they could decide to do it during the weekend, which would prevent them from having to find convoluted excuses to clear their schedules during the workdays. Cuddy read that as a promising sign of fate and felt oddly optimistic about it.

House, for once, had kept his promise and had taken care of the hotel reservation. Cuddy was grateful, first, when he didn't embarrass her, like she half-expected it, by shouting the address in the middle of PPTH in front of all her employees but, most of all, when she received the email, he'd sent her to let her know the name of the place, she was pleasantly surprised to find out he'd chosen one of the best hotels in Princeton. Not that she expected him to book a room in a shabby motel, not really, but The Peacock Inn was a classy place, and somehow, even if it made her feel a bit shallow, she couldn't help but appreciate the effort.

On Friday afternoon, the day before their arrangement was supposed to happen, she was standing in the clinic, going through some patients' files, offhandedly leaned against the nurse counter, when a voice behind her suddenly startled her.

"Hi there, Dr. Cuddy."

She inhaled a sharp intake of breath and slightly lost her balance, toppling backward against his chest. She quickly straightened up again but, for a brief moment, she could feel his strapping body pressed alongside her and she shivered at the sensation.

"I hope you're doing yoga to keep your body in good shape," House whispered in her ear, "coz FYI, I haven't spanked the monkey in days just to save my precious semen for you. Trust me, those champs are ready and wagging their tails in impatience already."

She clutched her fingers around the edge of the file she was holding and sucked in a quivering breath before turning around to face him, only to realize he was already limping away from her, leaving her oddly aroused by his childish, ridiculous comment. As if on cue, he turned around to send a beaming, self-satisfied smile in her direction before disappearing from sight.

She tsk-ed and shook her head, quickly erasing the look of total silliness his smile had triggered on her face and then she tried to refocus on her work.

# # # # #

The next day, Cuddy was standing in front of room 12 at the Peacock Inn Hotel and she felt her palms become sweaty from a mix of anxiety and excitement. Excitement because, as she kept repeating herself, she was finally going to give herself a real chance to have her dream fulfilled, and anxiety, well… anxiety because it was House, waiting behind that door, and she couldn't ignore the train of unsettling feelings that had started to overwhelm her since she'd waken up that morning.

No, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself that it was just a practical arrangement, she couldn't ignore the jolt of electricity that had rippled through her body when she'd chosen her lingerie. Neither could she ignore the girlish agitation that had taken hold of her when she'd gone through her wardrobe, trying to set her mind on what to wear, hesitating between a grey pencil skirt and a navy-blue dress, finally opting for a casual pair of jeans.

And it'd been impossible for her not to register the smile that she'd sent at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, after she'd applied lipstick on her lips, even though she'd eventually decided that make-up was definitely an unnecessary touch, scolding herself as she'd wiped it away from her mouth with a cotton ball.

She took a deep breath, dried her hands on her jeans and knocked on the door. House opened it less than a few seconds later and she briefly wondered if he was feeling nervous like she was, and if he'd been waiting for her to arrive right by the door. It made her smile, which House took as a warm greeting aimed at him. He smiled too, and gestured for her to come inside, adding a funny extra bow as she walked past him.

Cuddy stepped into the room and scanned the place around her: snug king-size bed, fluffy pillows, refined beddings, modern but elegant furniture. It was undoubtedly a pleasant room. She felt House's presence behind her and turned around.

"It's a nice room," she said, a bit clumsily, not really knowing what else to say.

House shot a quick glance at the bed, which she didn't fail to notice and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, well," he replied, shrugging as if it weren't a big deal.

"I like it," she said, fiddling with the hem of her shirt and staring at her shoes.

"Do you want to order something to eat?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck and looking everywhere but at her.

"No thanks," she replied quite instantly. "I, erm—"

"Prefer to get down to business?"

"Am not hungry," she said to complete her sentence.

"Ok. Still means there's nothing left to do other than getting down to business! Unless you brought a deck of card and wanna play poker. I've checked the minibar, they have bourbon!" he said, winking at her.

She bit her lower lip and looked up at him with a shy smile. She could tell he was trying to unwind her, and she felt somewhat grateful for it.

"No, you're right. We should, uh, do what we have to do."

"Alright," House said and the next second, he was sliding his tee-shirt past his head, tossing it on a chair behind him.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked, a bit panicked.

"Uh, I'm… getting undressed?" he said slowly, after a beat, as if she'd asked the stupidest question ever.

"Yeah, I know," she said quickly, staring at his hands. "But erm, if you don't mind, I'd rather you do that while I'm in the bathroom, getting ready, too."

He stared at her, dumbstruck.

"That way?" she said, pointing at a closed door on her left.

He nodded and watched her enter the bathroom, unable to utter a single word. The click of the door being locked jolted him back to reality.

"Eventually, there's gonna be a lot of nakedness involved, you know that, right?" he shouted to her behind the closed door.

"Finish getting undressed and get in the bed!" she replied bossily, shouting too.

House rolled his eyes and shook his head, dismayed, but docilely did as he was told.

Interminable minutes later, Cuddy finally exited the bathroom, artfully wrapped in a towel that hid her nudity from breasts down to mid-thighs. She was carrying her shoes and clothes in her arms, neatly folded, and she put the pile down on an armchair.

Straightening up, she froze on the spot at the vision she came face to face with: House was nonchalantly seated in bed, visibly entirely naked underneath the sheet that loosely rested on his lower belly and covered him from the waist down. He wore reading glasses and was looking down at a piece of paper. The glasses look good on him, she thought, trying not to focus too much on the fact that it was his muscled bare chest that mostly made him look dangerously sexy.

"What's that?" she asked cautiously approaching the bed.

He lifted his head and briefly met her gaze, before conspicuously and unabashedly starting to check her up and down with a look of pure roguishness on his face. Although she was partially covered by the towel, Cuddy felt the intensity of his gaze burn her skin through the fluffy fabric of the cloth and hastily slid in bed next to him to hide beneath the sheets.

"That?" he asked, holding the sheet of paper up before putting it back on the nightstand beside him. "Just a bit of research I've done," he told her, smiling. "Well, nothing I already knew, coz I'm a doctor and this is nothing but science but—"

"House," she warned, already afraid to hear what it was about.

"Sexual positions," he clarified, looking incredibly pleased with himself. "I mean, the ones that are supposed to guarantee the best success rates at conception."

She puffed, stunned.

"So!" he exclaimed, ignoring her reaction. "Doggy, of course, is highly recommended. You know, deep penetration, perfect angle… Splendid view too, of course, but that's not the point, I suppose."

"Are you kidding me?" she said, her eyes widening in total astonishment.

"Or-" he went on, still not paying attention to her. "Reversed cowgirl is quite efficient, too. Awesome angle, believe me. Although, that'd mean almost zero access to your boobs while you're riding me—"

"HOUSE!" she shouted, finally catching his attention.

"Uhm?" he said, turning his head to the side and smiling at her mischievously.

"We're not here to indulge one of your porn fantasies," she scolded. "We're here to make a baby. Well, hopefully at least."

"But this is about making ba—"

"No. We're doing it missionary. The penetration is fine in that position. Plus, I'll be already lying on my back afterward which is perfect to relax and—"

"Missionary? Yeah sure, go with the Mormon, boring position!" he protested, pouting. "Really Cuddy, I expected you to be a little more original, here."

"This is not a sex marathon, House. And, sorry, but I'm not the one who insisted to do it the old-fashioned way," she teased, repressing a giggle.

He sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Fine. Missionary," he huffed, taking his glasses off and rolling to the side to put them on the nightstand.

When he turned around to face her again, she was hunched in the corner, clutching the edge of the sheet under her chin.

"Look the other way," she commanded.

"Huh? You must be joking!" he puffed.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grasp on the sheet. He sighed heavily and turned his head to the opposite side. A few seconds later, he felt her wriggle on the mattress beside him and heard the whooshing sound of the towel being hastily thrown on the floor by the bed.

"You ready?" he asked, a bit exasperated.

"Yes," she answered in a faint voice.

He faced her again and carefully came close to her. She bit her lip and stared at his collarbone to avoid meeting his gaze. An awful awkwardness began filling the air. Hell, awkward wasn't even beginning to cover the feeling.

"You do remember how it's done, right?" he said, scolding.

"Shut up! Just… go on."

He reached out his hand and touched the side of her arm. She jumped, in spite of her.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"That's okay," he said, slowly trying to find the least uncomfortable way to position himself on top of her.

They bumped knees a few times, readjusted themselves instantly, grumbled a few more sorrys, until finally his body was aligned with hers. Cuddy was so tense, all her muscles started to stiffen up, almost to the point of cramping.

"Relax," House told her gently.

She nodded silently and took a slow, deep breath. He squirmed a little, struggled to balance his body weight the best he could, heedful not to crush her, while trying, clumsily, to nestle his hips between her barely spread legs. But soon, it became obvious that Cuddy was incapable of simply letting go.

It was an absolute disaster.

House groaned a few curses through clenched teeth and then rolled off of her with a puff. Lying on his back beside her, he turned his head to the side to look at her.

"You're too tense," he said evenly.

She turned her face toward him, too, and frowned reproachfully at him.

"Maybe I'm tense but, from what I just felt, you, on the other hand, are quite the opposite of that!" she accused.

His eyes widened in shock.

"Why excuse me for not having a hard-on on command!" he snapped, vexed, propping himself up on his elbows. "It's your fault! You… just lie there like a dead fish!"

"What? Well, excuse me," she snapped back. "It's not my fault if women's bodies are a little subtler than men's and I can't just press an on-off switch button to make it easier for you!"

He puffed, collapsing backward on the mattress and then, without a warning, covered his face with his hands and burst out laughing.

"What?" she scowled upset, glaring at him.

House slid his hands off of his face and looked at her with an unexpectedly fond smile.

"Jesus, fuck, Cuddy," he said, still chuckling. "You're such a pain in the ass—"

"No, you are the worst pain—" she started, then stopped, before narrowing her eyes at him, half angry, half-amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

He arched his eyebrows, in a sort of expectant manner and then, she started laughing, too. It was not a totally liberated roar, but it definitely was a laugh, nonetheless. They both laughed for a while, lying naked, side by side and, suddenly, Cuddy fell silent and turned to look at him.

"What are we doing here?" she said, her voice quiet and low.

House's smile faded and he stared back at her with an oddly piercing gaze.

"We're trying to have sex to get you pregnant," he told her, without malice.

"Yeah. How stupid is that?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

There was an airy beat and she looked at him with a sorry gaze.

"I think I better go," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Cuddy-"

She froze.

"I booked that hotel room. You came here, willingly. Tomorrow, you're gonna ovulate... This is the best window of opportunity—"

"Don't be ridiculous. Let's face it: This isn't working, House."

"That's not true," he said, his big, blue eyes staring intensely at her. "You know it works just great."

She bit her lip and stared back at him, speechless, overwhelmed, and confused. They were there, in that hotel room, both lying naked in a king-size bed, and it felt absolutely surreal, preposterous, maybe even completely wrong, in a way. But, at the same time, it felt… how did it feel? Familiar? Reassuring?... Desperate?

Cuddy sighed and searched for his gaze.

"You still want to do this?" she asked, a bit incredulous, not quite believing she was actually still considering his offer.

"Well, I'm naked, you're naked," he said matter-of-factly, playing down the overall fiasco with an encouraging smile.

"You know that's not enough," she replied, leering conspicuously at his groin. "So, what now?"

"I assume a blow-job isn't an option, eh?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

She rolled her eyes skyward and glowered at him at if saying: Don't push your luck!

"I still need a little bit of stimulation."

"Aww," she said with a sugary voice. "Do you need Viagra?"

"Give the man a break!" he exclaimed extravagantly. "I can assure you I don't need any of this to have little Greg stand for attention."

She arched her eyebrows in a sort of challenging manner.

"Are you questioning my words?" he said, frowning disapprovingly.

"You're not twenty anymore, House—"

"That's not the point."

"Oh, and what is the point?"

"Don't insult me, Cuddy," he said narrowing his eyes at her. "More than that: Don't insult you! If you think I wouldn't be able to get it up for you—"

"I'm just saying—"

"You know, men are visual."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Means… we need to see!"

All of a sudden, and without a warning, he grabbed the sheet she'd wrapped herself in and yanked it away, uncovering her body in one swift, confident gesture. She gasped, taken aback, and froze, her nakedness exposed to his sight.

"There," he said in a hoarse whisper, peering intensely at her, his eyes darkening with unmistakable desire. "That's better."

Almost reverently, he slowly raised his hand and ran it leisurely on her midriff, sending waves of goose bumps on her skin in its trail. When he reached her breast, he stopped and locked eyes with her.

"I, uh… " she stuttered.

Gently, he palmed the plump curve and pressed gently to cradle it in his hand.

"Fuck, Cuddy, you're even more beautiful now than you were back then," he said, his voice filled with admiration.

"House," she puffed breathless, caught off guard by the delicacy of his touch and the rawness of his confession.

"Shh-" He rolled to the side and looked down at his groin, drawing her gaze in the same direction and letting her know, without a doubt, that he was ready for her. "Just relax," he said, positioning himself on top of her.

Merely seconds after, he was spreading her legs open with one knee and slowly, inch after inch, he guided himself inside her. The sensation, warm, strong and conquering, overcame her all at once. She closed her eyes, and it instantly threw her fifteen years into the past, but then brought her back to the present in a flash. It made her head spin, took her breath away, and turned her muscles into jelly.

She heard the thudding beats of her heart echo in her ears, became aware of the mighty movements of his hips, aware of his skin rubbing her skin, and she felt the pulsating force of her inner walls capture him deep inside her core. It was too unexpected and too dangerously overwhelming.

It was too much.

She was afraid of the brimming flows of emotions that were pervading her as he was leisurely rolling his hips, going in and out of her at a deliberate pace, holding her close to him and rocking her gently with his thrusts. She had to stop those feelings from overtaking her. She clenched her fists along her thighs and forced herself not to move. In a stubborn, helpless battle against her betraying body, she forced herself not to feel.

House instantly registered the change within her, instantly noticed her restraint. He slid his fingers in her raven curls and tilted her head backward on the pillow. She opened her eyes and met his demanding gaze.

"Come for me, Cuddy," he panted.

"I'm pretty sure the one that needs to do that the most is you," she said bitchily, in a desperate attempt at distancing herself from the overwhelming sensation.

He huffed and glared at her.

"For fuck's sake, I need you to be there with me! You want me to come? Then, I need you to come, too!"

He resumed his movements, slowly and merely after the first thrust, she started panting, theatrically.

"Yes," she moaned, encouragingly. "You're right there. Yes, I'm close—"

His reaction was instantaneous. He shoved hard inside her and stilled, sheathed deep into her core. He grabbed her wrists in his large hands, pulling them away from her thighs and tying them above her head, mightily, holding her still beneath him. Then he buried his face in her neck and brushed the shell of her ear with his lips.

"Don't you know I can always tell when you lie? Don't even think about faking or we're done," he warned with a growl.

She gasped and wriggled to free her wrists from his grasp. In response, he tightened his grip and pinned her down on the mattress with another thrust. Skillfully, torturously, he twisted his hips once, drawing an eight between her legs, hitting a pleasuring spot inside of her with his shaft that instantly made her want to cry out.

Furious, she closed her eyes and set her lips firmly, barely managing to hold back a betraying yelp of pleasure, but he noticed. Instantly, he noticed. He pecked her jawline with soft kisses and rubbed his nose along the warmth of her pulse point.

"Stop fighting this," he whispered into her neck. "Stop fighting me."

Once more his rolled his hips and she breathed out a moan. He straightened up and looked down at her with a smile. Within the next sway, she bucked her pelvis up to meet his thrust and he gradually released his grasp on her wrists to free her.

"Yes, move with me," he coaxed. "Just like that. Come on."

Tentatively, she began rocking her hips while, within each one of his thrusts, unwavering and confident, he kept claiming her, pressing her down and prompting her to push back up.

"God, Cuddy, you feel so incredible," he said, picking up his pace.

Ineluctably, her resistance started melting away. She wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs, instinctively anchoring herself to him and, after a while, the sound of her pants and gasps became so raw and liberated, the desire between them turned into a burning need. He slammed harder and deeper into her, and she dug her fingernails into his back, closing her eyes to absorb the mighty power of his thrusts.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Her eyes popped opened, and she saw him, propped on his forearms above her, his face glistening with sweat. He was staring intensely at her and, suddenly, he cradled her face in his hands. She gasped and lifted her head off of the pillow, irrepressibly drawn to his face, hypnotized by his gaze and the force of his thrusts inside her.

She brushed the pulp of his lips with hers and instantly he dived in and devoured her mouth with a greedy kiss. Then his hands left her face, and he gripped her hips, to keep her steady beneath him, as he began hammering into her, relentlessly. She felt an insuperable wave gather at the center of her core and ripple through her, making her quiver into his arms.

"Oh God, don't stop, don't stop," she panted pleadingly beneath him, as a violent orgasm took hold of her.

Her inner walls clamped around his length and pulsed in several jolts of ecstasy. He tensed and tightened his grasp on her hips, pinning her on the mattress to shove harder and deeper into her a few more times until an incoherent groan came out the depth of his throat and he froze while she felt the thick, hot spurts of his semen fill her core.

He collapsed on top of her and remained buried inside her without moving for long minutes, caressing her face and softly kissing every inch of her skin his lips could access.

# # # # #

When he pulled out of her and rolled to the side, an awkward silence inevitably settled between them, replacing the unrestrained lust that had set them ablaze only moments earlier. The difference was palpable and the silence in the room, deafening.

"House?" she said, after a while. "You didn't really do all of this to get me pregnant, did you?"

He turned his head to the side to face her but didn't answer.

"Did you do it just to… have sex with me?" she asked cautiously, with a hoarse voice.

He smiled, a genuinely fond smile, and rolled his eyes.

"Well, I can't deny that was definitely an upside."

She puffed, hurt, and instantly started to sit up straight. He seized her by the shoulders and pushed her down on her back again.

"But-" he exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and mightily sliding it underneath the small of her back, "I also did that because you, for whatever crazy reason, convinced yourself that you need to procreate. And, as I said, I do believe that I'm your best choice. Face it, Cuddy: Your hot bod and my genius brain, there's no better combination that'd guarantee you the golden medal at the Baby Olympics, which, with your obsession for perfection must be the ultimate turn on! Now, if you really want that to happen, stop fidgeting and give my little swimmers a chance to climb their way up that hostile environment!"

She stopped moving and stared up at him, mouth agape.

"The pillow is meant to keep your hips arched up, for—" he started to explain, hesitant, when she didn't even crack a smile at his joke.

"I know what it's for," she unintentionally half-snapped.

He frowned and scrutinized her face quizzically.

"What is it?" he asked, somewhat angrily. "I'm not sure it's the best time to have second thoughts, you know."

"I'm not, it's just-" She bit her lower lip and looked away feeling overwhelmed and desperately trying to avoid showing it.

House read that as self-consciousness and sighed, visibly relieved. He grabbed the sheet and carefully covered her naked body with it.

"Here," he said. "That better?"

She cocked her head to the side to face him and nodded shyly. He put out his hands and brushed the side of her cheek with his fingertips.

"You ok?"

"Yeah," she whispered, feeling a lump tightening her throat.

"Good," he replied, taking a deep breath and then he sat up straight in the bed. "You know what? I was thinking maybe we can order something. Champagne? What do you say?" he asked, with a boyish grin, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

"I don't think—"

"Why? Come on Cuddy, you and I could use some bubbles!"

"Only you would sleep with the girl first and then think about buying her a drink!" she said with a sad smile.

"Well, maybe we could do that another time then. I mean, the drink, of course, not the sex. Although well, anytime you're up for it, you know, I'm definitely up for it, too!"

"House," she gently scolded.

"Bad idea?" he said, putting the receiver back on its cradle. "You're right. Pregnancy and alcohol: Not the best combination."

She opened her mouth to say something, but he covered her lips with his index finger to silence her before she could speak.

"Shh, don't say a word. No champagne. I get it." There was an endless beat and then, he cleared his throat. "Listen, you stay here, relax, let my awesome spermatozoids swim their way up your uterus while I'm going to take a shower. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Stay here," he said again with a bit of regret in his voice.

She nodded unconvincingly and he got up. She watched him walk to the bathroom, shameless in all his naked glory, and when he closed the door behind him, she sighed heavily. She heard the lock on the door, and she understood what he was doing just then: He was offering her an easy way out. No explanation to give, no awkward moment to face. Just a convenient mean to leave without having to face him and talk about what had just happened. And she knew that she was going to do it, no matter how it tore her apart to actually have to.

All of this, that… connection between them, that passion, irrational and wild, it was too strong, too untamable and too crazy to get them anywhere. God knew she craved his touch, his attention, his care but… truth is, life, real life, was not happening in hotel rooms and as much as she desperately wanted to stay and be with him, she knew she couldn't. And he knew that just as much. That's why he'd gotten out of bed, pretexting he needed to take a shower, when obviously, he could have waited a little longer. He'd just given her the opportunity to act like nothing could have started that day, in room 12 at the Peacock Inn Hotel.

Cuddy felt a tear roll down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She heard the sound of the flowing water coming from the bathroom and she realized it had taken him ages to actually get under that shower.

She wondered what he was thinking about in that instant, but quickly chased the idea out of her mind. Instead, she took a deep breath, before slowly propping herself on her elbows to get up. She retrieved her clothes on the armchair, got dressed quickly and, after one last, longing look around her, she walked to the door and exited the room.

# # # # #

One morning, exactly sixteen days later, Cuddy woke up with the discomforting awareness of a trickle of warm liquid pooling down her legs. She didn't have to check to know it was blood. She walked to her bathroom, threw her tainted night clothes in the laundry basket and crawled under the shower, washing away the salty taste of her tears with hot water.

She dressed in a dark pair of pants, barely applied make-up on her face and drove to work, where she forced herself to be her usual bossy self, giving polite but distant smiles to every employee that greeted her on her way to her office.

Around noon, she asked her assistant to go buy a salad for her in the cafeteria and some frozen yogurt. While almost everyone was having lunch and the hallways were deserted, she took the elevator up to the maternity ward, sat on a bench in front of the nursery and ate her meal, half-heartedly, looking miserable. Then she went back to her office, locked her door and buried herself in boring paperwork for the rest of the day.

The morning after, when she entered her office, she spotted a Styrofoam cup on her desk. She approached and the delicate smell of hot cappuccino tickled her nostrils, and then she saw the post-it note that was attached to the lid. It simply read:

"I'm sorry it didn't work. If you want to try again, I'm here if you need me."

She peeled off the post-it, sat down on her chair and stared at the cup, feeling a bit overwhelmed, in spite of her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her mind suddenly being invaded with a brimming flow of memories of him, slowly going in and out of her, at such a pleasuring, deliberate pace, so focused, confident and disconcertingly tender.

When images of his intense blue gaze staring down at her popped in her mind and became so real it sent an almost painful spasm in her womb, she opened her eyes and shivered slightly, shaking her head to bring herself back to reality. She looked at her hand, holding the post-it, and re-read the note once more.

"I'm sorry it didn't work."

Somehow, even though he'd never really said it, she knew he'd meant more with that "it" than just her failed pregnancy, and when she understood what kind of choice, he was really handing her then, there were no words to express how sorry she felt, too.

She smiled bitterly, crumpled the little piece of paper in her palm and then threw it in the bin at her feet with a sigh.

** THE END **