Shorter chapters might probably do the trick, I think?

Lisa Cuddy knew, that without a doubt and without anyone telling her, she was uncomfortable with certainty.

It was all Ted Hughes's fault. Really, it was. Could she help it if she asked Ted if he was named after Sylvia Plath's husband? She was curious and not flirting. Surely, it was not flirting. But the douche-y Comm. major decided to take an interest in her anyway and decided that she, Lisa Cuddy, would be one of his survey respondents for his undergraduate thesis. And that was when Lisa Cuddy, Biochem major and Jewish girl, ticked off all the boxes and answered all the questions the young Ted Hughes had. And that was when he concluded that Biochem majors, which she (and twenty other respondents) represented, had no "comfort with uncertainty".

Lisa Cuddy was not certain with Gregory House. She wasn't sure what it was with them. She wasn't sure why she stalked him. She wasn't sure why she was really in Endocrinology. She wasn't sure why she wasted time in the damn Laundromat. She wasn't sure why he affected her so much like that in the bookstore. She was certain that she wanted to be in med school. She was certain that she would be a Biochem major during her stay in Michigan. She was certain that she would be focused.

Now she wasn't.

Now she was here—with him, beside him, naked with him, after sex. And now he knew how uncomfortable she was with sex. She wasn't sure (again, that damn uncertainty) if her prudishness with sex was because of Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl (she really loved that movie and Omar Sharif) or because she saw her mother and Daddy sleeping together (she wanted to remove that from the very core of her brain). She wasn't sure why she wasn't a virgin anymore, either, even before she met Greg House. Now, he brought her back to extreme self-consciousness and hypersensitivity to whatever comment he gave her. She wasn't sure if it was her hormones.

"Hey," Greg broke her reverie. She noticed that he was still rubbing her back. Was he fucking soothing her? "Lisa Cuddy. Don't worry. You were really good anyway. Really good."

"Don't patronize me," she said, feeling a little like an eight-year old.

"Of course not, darling," he cooed. "Honey, of course not."

"Fuck you."

"That's the idea, yeah."

And at that note, she decided to sit beside him with a thin sheet wrapped around her frame. She pinched his arm forcefully. Emphasis on the forcefully.

"You fucking, fucking, fucking asshole."

He wasn't flinching but was simply grinning at her slightly. As a response, he just caressed her side and said, "You know what's weird, Lisa Cuddy?"

"Is it you calling me 'Lisa Cuddy' despite everything we've been through?"

"No, silly. It's the fact that you're so hot and apparently, great at making love or whatever you ladies call having sex, even if you are really a prude."

"Am not," she said, enunciating her words carefully. She completed that statement with a determined look on her face. Even if she was naked as the day she was born. She hoped that it didn't diminish the gravity of the situation.

"You are." Now, he held her hand.

"Let's change the subject. Please. Please," she whined.

"Ugh. Fine." Greg rolled his eyes at her. The jerk. "McDonald's, Kentucky Fried, or Wendy's?"

"Really?" she told him, unimpressed. "That's your change of topic?"

"What's easier than a little Three Questions?"

"No. One question, multiple choice. Idiot," she corrected him.

"Oh. Right. Fuck. Multiple choice. Whatever. Answer the damn question, lady."

"O-kay. None. Arby's."

"Why do you need to negate everything?"

"Well, I don't know, Greg House." Somewhere, the gods of time took notice.

He kissed her. It was a long, languorous kiss. "I'd say you're just that type of girl, eh?"

"Probably am." This time, it was she who kissed him. Soft little pecks—short and sweet.

It was funny how they couldn't stop kissing. It was probably time for another round. However, they both decided to behave themselves. Somehow, they knew, this was not the time. It was not all about sex, and each of them had a clue. Sure, sex may be a big part of their relationship-thing-whatever right now, but they both wanted something more. It wasn't just sex. It wasn't just fun. It wasn't always going to be fun. But they wouldn't tell each other what they really thought, not really.

In another lifetime, or maybe in twenty years or so, there would be a reckoning.