Cuddy had her usual hellish Monday morning of meetings and paperwork, so she wasn't able to poke her head into House's office until about noon.
He was, thankfully, alone and staring off into space, which meant he was either daydreaming or in the midst of an important breakthrough on his current case.
"Gotta sec?" she said.
He looked up, blinked, as though he had just woken up from a nap.
Definitely daydreaming.
"Hi," he said.
"I just wanted to thank you for how well you handled the Rachel situation the other night," Cuddy said.
"She bought that, huh?"
"That you stopped by our house at 4 am because you desperately needed to pick up your toolbox?" Cuddy chuckled. "Hook, line, and sinker."
"She's very trusting," House said. "Unlike those other pre-school cynics."
"Well, I appreciate it. . ."
House smiled, looked at her in a searching sort of way, and she wondered, for a brief second, if he was about to bring up the fact that they'd had sex.
Of course he wasn't. When it came to discussing his feelings, House pretty much lived at the corner of Denial and Avoidance streets.
"So . . ." she said.
"So . . ." he said, imitating her sing-song tone of voice.
"About Saturday night. . ."
"Right. . . That. We really don't have to talk about that."
"And yet we do."
He leaned back in his chair. "You're the boss, boss."
"It can't happen again."
"Of course not"
"I'm serious."
"So am I," he said, in a mock grave tone.
"Here's the thing, House. I had a great time."
"Me too," he said quickly.
Cuddy glanced at the differential room to make sure no one was around. It was empty.
"But we can't do the friends-with-benefits thing," she whispered.
"And why not exactly?" he whispered back.
"Because it'll just get confusing. And not just for Rachel. For me. And for you, too."
"I'm not confused in the slightest," House said.
"I don't want to get back together, House," Cuddy said firmly.
"I know you don't," he said.
"And I just think there's too much baggage for us to do casual sex. There's nothing casual about us. Never has been. Never will be."
"Fair enough," House said. "But allow me to make a counter argument."
"Shocker."
"For all the problems in our relationship—and I'm willing to admit that we had a few and I'll even go one step farther in admitting that maybe I was the cause of some of these problems. . ."
"Big of you."
"Sex was never one of our problems," House said, looking at her bluntly.
"No it wasn't."
"We're good at it," House said.
"True."
"And we're both single, right?"
"I believe so. Unless, of course, you followed up on that Ruth Oldenburg proposal . . ."
House ignored her.
"And since we're both single, and since we've already agreed to try the friendship thing, why not also continue to do one of the things we do best, while we can? If one of us starts seeing someone else, we cut it off. No more sex. Until then, why deprive ourselves?"
"So as you see it, it's almost like we owe it to ourselves," Cuddy said, trying not to laugh.
"Exactly!"
"Very compelling argument."
"Thank you. I've given it a lot of thought."
"I'm sure you have."
"What do you say?"
"Not happening, House. But A for effort."
"Crap."
He drummed his fingers on the desk. Then looked back up at her, in a defeated sort of way.
"Lunch with me and Wilson in the cafeteria in 20?" he said.
"Oooh, a threesome!" said Cuddy.
"Now that's just mean."
#######
About a week later, Cuddy was working late on a Friday night, when she wandered into House's office.
She slumped into his chair sideways, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair, and kicked off her pumps.
"Oh God, this is literally the first time I've sat in 8 hours," she sighed.
"Rough day?" he asked, looking up from his file.
"You don't want to know," she said.
"As long as it wasn't my fault," he said.
"For once, the problem had nothing to do with you," she chuckled.
"The wonders never cease."
Cuddy rubbed her temples and briefly closed her eyes. House went back to his work. The silence between them was comfortable, familiar.
"You getting out of here anytime soon?" she asked finally.
"Sure," he said, closing the file. "What did you have in mind?"
"I dunno. Drinks? Rachel is spending the night with my mom."
Why on earth had she told him that?
"Drinks . . .or sex?" he said.
Busted.
"Drinks first. Then. . . we'll see," she said sheepishly.
"I'm right behind you."
#######
They didn't go to Sullivan's, the regular PPTH hangout, but instead went to a quiet tavern several miles away from the hospital.
They sat in a corner booth that was completely dark, save for a small red lamp on the table.
There was some pretense of small talk—gossip about the guests at Cuddy's party; a brief discussion of her hellish day—but it was mostly futile.
Anyone who was seeing them for the first time, might've assumed they were brand new lovers on an early date.
Basically, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.
First, they sat so close that their hands and arms kept touching by accident. Then House began absent-mindedly stroking her bare arm with his thumb—and Cuddy found herself marveling over the fact that the tendons of her wrist could be such an erogenous zone.
All that could have been seen as friendly—they hadn't really crossed a line yet. But then, she lifted his hand to her mouth and allowed her lips to graze his palm and he began migrating his hand over her mouth and she was kissing his hand, leaving it wet from her lips and tongue.
Then he pushed the hair out of her eyes and, staring at her, caressed her face and she curled toward him, like a cat leaning into his touch, and then—oh fuck it—they were making out, right there in the booth.
"We should probably. . ." House said.
"Yeah," Cuddy said, getting up.
For a couple who were supposedly just friends, they were sure having a lot of sex together.
#####
"Wilson, where do you stand on the whole friends-with-benefits thing?" Cuddy asked.
They were drinking the hospital's poor excuse for coffee out of styrofoam cups in the employee lounge.
"Please tell me you're joking."
"Just a hypothetical question."
"Let me guess, for your good friends, Louse and Duddy."
"It's possible that House and I may have had sex once—or 5 times—over the past couple of weeks."
"Bad idea."
"I know, right?" she said firmly. Then with less certainty: "Remind me again why?"
"Because someone's going to get hurt. Probably him. He's still madly in love with you."
"I wouldn't go that far."
"I would."
She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee.
"But let me run this past you," she said. "House and I have mutually decided to be just friends. We're both single. So why not enjoy one of our, uh, favorite pastimes together, while we can?"
Wilson looked at her.
"House, you've grown breasts."
"Okay, yes, that was his argument. But it's somewhat irrefutable."
"It's complete bullshit," Wilson said. "House doesn't want to be just friends with you. He doesn't even want to be friends-with-benefits with you. He wants to be your boyfriend again. And he just figures, the closer he is to you, the better his chances are."
"Wait. . .he told you that?"
"No. He hasn't said anything. But I'm not a moron."
"Neither am I!" she sputtered.
"Cuddy, when it comes to your relationship, both you and House kind of are morons."
"Gee thanks."
"You're asking for my advice and here it is: No more sex with House unless you want to take him back. It won't end well."
######
In the end, it wasn't Wilson's little pep talk that stopped House and Cuddy from having sex (they had cramped but hot sex in the back seat of his car, on her office couch after hours, and once, against a metal exam room table, which was completely ill-advised as it left a rather painful red mark on House's back). It was the fact that Cuddy actually began dating a nice guy. His name was Larry Summers and he was a divorced architect with two sons in grade school. They met a dinner party and hit it off—they shared a passion for the films of Eric Roehmer and the faux-naif art of Joan Miró—and went on a few dates. He was boyishly handsome, with wavy brown hair and a gentle smile. After the third date, he kissed her goodnight on her porch and it was a soft, sweet kiss and she decided she needed to tell House.
"Before you go, we have to talk," she said. They were in her office. House had just gotten approval for a brain biopsy and was rushing out before she changed her mind.
He stopped in the doorway.
"What's up?" he said, sounding concerned.
"I've met somebody," she said.
He frowned.
"I see," he said.
"His name is Larry, he's an architect. We have our fourth date on Friday. . .so you know what this means."
"No more bruises on my back," House said.
"Something like that," Cuddy said.
"Okay," House said, keeping a poker face.
"Okay?"
"Okay, that was the deal. I created the terms, so I'm not going to renege on them."
"Well, I appreciate your respect for our arrangement." She felt strangely deflated by his reaction. She was expecting him to try to talk her out of it.
"No problem," he said.
"So. . still friends?"
"Still friends," he said. He nodded curtly at her and left.
######
After their fourth date, they kissed goodnight and Larry asked if he could come inside and Cuddy made up some lame excuse about having to get up early the next morning.
"Are you sure?" he said, with a somewhat pathetic smile. He gave her another kiss.
She kissed him back, thinking that his aftershave smelled nice and that it was pleasant to kiss someone who didn't give her a rug burn for a change. But still. . .
"It's just that. . .I guess there's . . . something you need to know about me," she said.
She proceeded to tell Larry about House.
She explained that she had just emerged from a long, complicated, and sometimes painful relationship with another doctor at the hospital, a man she had known for over 20 years. She mentioned that she and House were trying to be friends. (She conveniently neglected to mention the "now without benefits!" part.)
"It's just a little too soon for me," she said.
Larry was a nice guy, so when he said he understood, he meant it. But he wasn't a saint, which was how he came up with the idea to fix House up with his colleague Phyllis. He figured if House had someone in his life, Cuddy would finally get over him.
They were on their sixth date, at Yuki's, a little sushi joint around the corner from the hospital, when he made the proposal. (House hated sushi. "They've invented this thing called fire," he used to say, whenever Cuddy suggested they eat at Yuki's. "It cooks things.")
"Is House interested in dating?" Larry asked.
"Dating?"
"Yeah. . . I have a friend. Her name is Phyllis. She works at the firm. She and her husband split a year ago and she's ready to start dating. She's a very nice lady. I mentioned House to her and she seemed interested."
Cuddy laughed.
"If she's nice, I would never subject her to House," she said.
"I mean, she's not a pushover or anything like that. She's smart. Has a great sense of humor. And she's something of a babe, too," he added.
"Wow. If she's so great, how come you never dated her?" Cuddy teased.
"We work together," Larry said, taking a sip of sake. "I learned a long time ago never to date a co-worker."
Now you tell me, Cuddy thought, almost laughing out loud.
"It's just that House can be a little hard to deal with when you first meet him," she explained.
"So let's ease into it. We can go out as a foursome. See if they click."
"A double date?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"And she knows about his leg?"
"She doesn't care about stuff like that," Larry said.
Cuddy wrinkled her nose. Maybe it would be good if House started seeing someone. As it was, they were kind of stuck in relationship purgatory.
"I guess I can ask," she said skeptically. "But I wouldn't hold my breath. House really isn't the blind date type."
Larry smiled, speared a piece of fish with his chopsticks.
"Have you tried the yellowtail?" he asked. "It's amazing."
#####
House was nothing if not unpredictable. He agreed to the double date.
They chose an Italian restaurant called Giuseppe's.
House was the last to arrive. He was wearing the same jacket and tie he had worn to Cuddy's cocktail party. His hair was actually combed. Cuddy was once again surprised that he had made an effort.
As for Phyllis, she was pretty, as advertised, with thick dark hair, flashing brown eyes, and olive-toned skin. She looked Italian, or Greek, Cuddy couldn't tell. She had the kind of figure that House liked—which is to say, she had tits and ass like Cuddy.
Introductions were made and House had to force himself to stop sizing up Larry and concentrate on his "date."
"Lisa tells me you're a talented pianist," Larry said to House, after they ordered the wine.
"I can bang out Heart and Soul," House said with a shrug.
"He's being modest, " Cuddy said. "He's great."
"What kind of music do you like to play?" Phyllis asked.
"Jazz, blues, a little classical. Whatever I'm in the mood for," House said.
"That's the kind of music I like, too," Phyllis said. "Are you an Oscar Peterson fan?"
"I love Oscar Peterson," House said. For the first time, he really looked at her.
"I. . .like jazz, too," Cuddy said, feeling lame.
House coughed loudly.
"What? I do like it!" Cuddy said.
"I seem to recall someone falling asleep at the Blue Note Club—twice," House said.
"I did not!"
"Please. You were snoring. You got drool on my shirt. I had to practically carry you out of there."
"I was tired," Cuddy protested. "The set didn't start until almost midnight."
House smiled at her.
"I love the Blue Note Club," Phyllis said, hoping to break it up. "I could never get Jack to take me there."
Jack was Phyllis's ex husband.
"We should go there one night," Phyllis said to House.
"Uh, yeah, we should," he said, But he was still looking at Cuddy.
Larry side-eyed House, put an arm across Cuddy's shoulder.
Food was ordered—and a second bottle of chianti came out.
"So you have a little girl," Phyllis said to Cuddy.
"Rachel. She's 3," Cuddy said, beaming. She whipped out her cell phone and showed Phyllis a picture of Rachel standing next to a baby goat at a petting zoo.
"She's adorable," Phyllis said.
"Do you have any kids?" Cuddy asked her.
"No. . .never really appealed to me, to be honest. I guess I'm just not the maternal type."
"I doubt that," Cuddy said.
"You'd be surprised. I'm too selfish. I just want to be able to pick up and go anywhere I want, when I want, without having another human being to be responsible for."
"I understand that," Cuddy said. "Frankly, I wish more people would be honest with themselves and acknowledge that maybe they shouldn't have children. But you really don't know until you have one of your own. It changes. . .everything."
"What about you, Greg?" asked Larry. "You want kids?"
"No. I'm not a fan of kids," House said. He looked at Cuddy: "I like a kid."
Cuddy smiled at him.
"Rachel and House are close," she told the table. She turned to House: "Did I tell you that she is now the proud owner of her very own Fisher Price tool set?"
"What?" He tried not to look overly pleased. "No, you didn't tell me that."
"Rachel saw House with a tool kit and became obsessed," Cuddy explained.
"Good thing she didn't see me with my Medieval torture set," he said.
There was a slightly appalled silence.
"He's kidding," Cuddy said finally.
"Speaking of which, who wants to hear a joke?" said Larry. He had a knack for diffusing potentially awkward situations. "So Seymour and Selma Goldberg get divorced after 75 years of marriage. The judge says, 'Why get a divorce now?' and they said, 'We wanted to wait until the kids were dead.'"
Everyone laughed, even House.
"I heard a good joke yesterday," Cuddy said.
"Oh no," House said.
"What?"
"Cuddy can't tell a joke," he told the table.
"Shut up. I can too."
"No, she's hopeless."
"House doesn't think I'm funny."
"That's because you're not."
"Why don't we let Phyllis and Larry be the judges?"
"The floor is yours, Shecky."
Phyllis and Larry exchanged a look. Cuddy told her joke. It had to do with a bunch of old ladies playing poker. When she got to the punch line, nobody laughed.
House rested his chin in his hand looking amused.
"That joke killed today at the staff meeting," Cuddy muttered.
"When people who are on your payroll laugh at your jokes, it doesn't count," House said.
"You're mean," she said.
"Awww, don't pout," House said.
Cuddy hit him.
"Ouch!" House said.
"Who wants dessert?" Larry said.
######
Before dessert, House excused himself from the table. He was gone for so long that Cuddy decided to go check on him.
She found him out back, near the dumpster, smoking a cigarette.
"Since when do you smoke?" she said, coming up behind him, startling him.
"Since I stopped taking Vicodin," he said.
"House, you quit Vicodin? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Wanted to make sure it would stick."
"I'm so proud of you," she said. "Of course now I have to get you to quit smoking."
"Want one?"
"No!"
She looked at him for a second. "Okay."
He pulled out a Camel, cupped his hands over the cigarette and lit it for her.
Cuddy hadn't smoked since college. She took a puff, coughed a bit.
House laughed.
"God, I wish I had a camera right now," he said.
She took another puff.
"So are you having fun?" she asked.
"It's okay. . .you?"
"Yeah. . .it's . . Phyllis seems nice. Your kind of girl. Likes jazz. Doesn't want kids. A Greg House dream date."
House shrugged, took a drag of his cigarette.
"And Larry seems like a great guy," he said.
"Yeah, he is."
The March air was brisk and Cuddy hadn't brought her jacket. She shivered a bit.
"You cold?" House said.
"It's chilly out here."
He let the cigarette dangle from his lips and rubbed Cuddy's arms and shoulders to keep her warm.
"Here, get under my jacket," he said. He opened his jacket and she kind of climbed in. He had his arms around her and she was pressed up against the warmth of his chest..
"You feel good," she said.
"So do you" he said.
In unison, they both dropped their cigarettes and started kissing, somewhat ravenously. They were so lost in the moment, they didn't notice that Phyllis and Larry had come out the back door and were standing there, their arms folded, watching them.
Larry cleared his throat.
They stopped kissing. Cuddy extricated herself from House's jacket.
"Whoops," House said.
"Shit," Cuddy said.
"Wow. This is so not suprising," Larry said.
"No, not even a little bit," Phyllis said.
"Here's a thought," Larry said. "Why don't you two just fuck or get married or kill each other—I don't know what. But don't drag other people into your little duet of dysfunction. It's no fun at all."
"It really isn't," Phyllis agreed.
"I'm sorry," Cuddy said, feeling ashamed. "I don't know what came over me."
"Seems pretty clear to me," Larry said.
"For the record, you guys are perfect for each other," Phyllis said, somewhat derisively.
"We're out of here, by the way," Larry said. "Lisa, have a nice life. House, I'd say it was nice to meet you but that would be a lie."
And they left.
Cuddy and House looked at each other guiltily.
Finally, she shrugged.
"My place?" she asked.
####
At 4 am that morning, House got out of bed, began tip-toeing around the room to collect his stuff.
Cuddy opened her eyes.
"Wait," she said groggily. "Come back."
"Really?" he said.
"Yeah. I'm cold. I need your body."
He hopped back into bed quickly.
"Better?"
"No! Your feet are cold."
"Sorry."
He kissed her on the forehead, put his arms around her.
"Better," she murmured.
They fell back asleep.
House was awakened to the sound of a 3-year-old shouting his name.
"Howse is here! Howse is here!"
Rachel climbed on the bed, began jumping up and down on it.
"Yay! Yay! Yay!"
"Ugggh," Cuddy said.
"Rachel, inside voice," House said, putting the pillow over his ear.
"It's a sleepover! It's a sleepover!"
She collapsed onto the bed with a thud and squirmed her way under the covers between them. But she couldn't stay still. First she climbed all over House and then she climbed all over mommy and then she decided to steal their pillows because they weren't waking up fast enough and then she made an awesome bed fort with the pillows and the blanket and then she started jumping up and down again.
"Who wants pancakes?" Cuddy said, deciding she was awake.
"I do!" said Rachel.
"I do," said House.