You guys are amazing - thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! And thanks for the rec, maddoggirl! Unfortunately, I don't have an LJ account, so will have to do. :)

This chapter is a little longer than I would have hoped, but the dialogue kind of ran away with itself. Anyway, I'm sorry for the length here. Hopefully the next one will be shorter - I can tell you for certain that there are definitely more House/Cuddy moments to come, if that's any consolation.

Have a nice weekend, all, and please let me know what you think of this!

Chapter 2: Initiative

House sat on an exam room table, cane beside him and Game Boy Advance in both hands. Even though he was only half focusing on the game, he was nearly to the end of the final level. His thumbs moved of their own accord in time with the electronic music. He had called for a consult nearly half an hour ago. It didn't usually take this long.

As if on cue, the door to the exam room swung open. House glanced up long enough to see Wilson's head and frowned.

"Hey." Wilson stepped inside and closed the door behind him, stopping suddenly and looking around the room. "Where's your patient?"

"Where's Cuddy?"

"She went home an hour ago." Wilson folded his arms. "Where's your patient?"

"Why didn't anyone tell me? I would've stopped pretending to work." He pounded furiously on the buttons of the Game Boy. He was only a few seconds to the end when…. "Dammit!" The music died with a final teasing flourish.

"You're not pretending to work now," Wilson pointed out.

"Well, I wouldn't have felt so guilty about it." House slid the Game Boy into his pocket.

"Yeah, right," Wilson snorted. "There never was a patient, was there?"

"Sure there was. Nasty case of the sniffles. It was touch and go for awhile – wasn't sure if everyday Kleenexes were gonna cut it." He picked up his cane, moving it in his fingers so the crook spun wildly. "Cuddy never goes home early."

"You're just upset you didn't fool her with your fake consult routine again."

The top of his cane was a hypnotic blur. "Now, the question is – why."

"You're an ass," Wilson answered, not missing a beat.

House stopped and glanced at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. He gingerly swung himself off the exam table, making sure to place his cane squarely on Wilson's foot as he passed and lean hard against it. Wilson sucked in a breath, but refused to otherwise acknowledge the incident. "Did you say something?" House asked, managing to look as if nothing had happened.

Wilson glowered and followed him out of the room. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know where you're going. I'm going to Cuddy's office."

"You think I'm lying?"

House stopped suddenly, bringing traffic in the hallway to a halt. A small boy ran headlong into his cane and peered guiltily up at him. House screwed his face into a grimace, sticking out his tongue and widening his eyes. The boy stared, frightened, backing into the door that led to Cuddy's office with a resounding thump before tearing down the hallway.

"About Cuddy leaving – no," House finally answered, watching the boy disappear before turning to Wilson. "About not having slept with someone last night – yes."

Wilson immediately straightened, puffing out his chest indignantly. "I never – "

"Your lips say no. The lipstick smudge on your collar screams yes – as I'm sure you did plenty of last night." House smirked. Wilson craned his neck and tugged at his collar in an effort to find and destroy the incriminating evidence. "Your dying patients must've been glad to know their doctor's having a good time – though given your track record, one of them was probably right there with you. Does that ever make consults awkward?"

"It's not a patient."

"I know those puppy dog eyes of yours, Jimmy," House scoffed. "Your shirt's wrinkled and your tail's between your legs." He turned and lurched forward, stopping outside Cuddy's door and hooking his cane on the handle. "You should keep a change of clothes in your office."

"It's locked," Wilson stated, not bothering to try the handle.

"Is that what people are doing to doors nowadays? No wonder I've been stuck outside my building all week." He rolled his eyes, pulling his wallet out of his pocket andmaking a show of opening it and flipping through the contents, finally extracting a key and holding it an inch from Wilson's nose.

"Cuddy doesn't know you have that, does she." It wasn't a question.

"And if she finds out," House began, turning the key in the lock and opening the door effortlessly. "I'll tell her you're the one who stole it."

"She'd never believe you, and you know it."

"Yeah, but I bet Debbie in accounting wouldn't be so understanding." He stirred the contents of Cuddy's trash can with his cane: an empty coffee cup, a few tissues, a crumpled paper bag. "First it's the key to the Dean's office. Then you start stealing bases. Have you rounded second yet, because Cuddy's – "

"It wasn't Debbie in accounting," Wilson finally interrupted. It really was all too easy to get on his nerves. "I don't even know who that is."

"Wilson, you sly dog." House took his cane from the trash and wiped it on his pant let, shooting his friend a knowing grin. "Not even exchanging names anymore…."

He sat in Cuddy's chair, spinning it a full 360 degrees before beginning to open her desk drawers. The desktop was immaculate as always, the insides of the drawers no different: every paper clip and pen had its rightful place. At first this discovery had been a disappointment; he would have liked to think that the Dean of Medicine had a secret slovenly side. Now her obsessive neatness was oddly thrilling.

"It's Alice," Wilson muttered, defeated for a moment, but quickly trying to regain some ground. "Just what do you think you're going to find, House? Cuddy's diary? A stash of secret letters admitting her undying love for you?"

"So what's Alice's malignant tumor's organ of choice? The liver? Pancreas? I'm assuming the breasts are out for now. You don't look that desperate." He glanced up. "Yet."

"What, your newest patient not interesting enough for you?" Wilson could be such a spoilsport when it came to cancer jokes.

House ran a hand over the contents of the middle drawer, intentionally scattering everything before closing it with a bang. "The kids can handle it. Amazing how fast they grow up, isn't it?"

Wilson didn't answer for a moment, had turned and was heading towards the door. "Stop trying to turn Cuddy into your latest puzzle, House. You know you'll only end up pissing her off."

The door snapped shut before House could respond. He leaned back in Cuddy's chair, bouncing his cane on the floor. Yesterday she had followed him into the men's room, chest heaving as she shouted (not that he hadn't enjoyed it); this morning she had sought him out in subdued silence; and now, for the first time he could remember, she had given up early and left the hospital behind. Maybe he had finally gotten to her after all. From here, it was only a matter of time….

He opened the middle desk drawer and began carefully re-straightening its contents.

Her heels clicked loudly on the slick bathroom tile. He heard scurrying behind him: someone darting out of a stall and hurriedly washing his hands, other footsteps shuffling straight to the door. The noise from the hall drifted in once more as the door opened and shut one last time – then they were alone.

"You left the clinic." The words were simple and soft, but twisted with danger.

"Had to go to the bathroom," he answered, not moving from the urinal except to tilt his head toward the ceiling. He was toeing a thin line, had been kicking at it for days and finally had her right where he wanted her – dangling by a taut and twisted thread.

"Almost two hours ago."

"Hey, I don't question nature's call. I just answer it." He risked a glance behind him. Just enough to see her out of the corner of his eye – arms folded over the breast of her flaming red suit. "I have a patient."

"Like hell you do." Her voice was beginning to rise. "I was just in your office. Cameron's answering your mail, and Chase and Foreman are struggling through a crossword puzzle."

"That's not very professional of them," he mused. "They should at least pretend to know all the answers while the boss is in the room."

"And no one but past patients and the clinic staff has called to complain about you for over a week. No new complaints – no new patients." She paused. He knew what was coming and considered heading her off, but admitting to anything before directly accused had never been his style. "Except the one you ever-so-sweetly told would probably drop dead of colon cancer, and then left waiting on his stomach, prepped for a rectal."

"I knew I was forgetting something," he jeered, sobering quickly. "That patient was an idiot."

"That patient," she started, voice wavering just slightly, "was one of the hospital's largest benefactors. Needless to say, he's decided to allocate his funds elsewhere. And he's suing."

"That was quick."

"He's a lawyer. A good one."

"Damn. If only I'd snagged one of the bad ones this time…." He finally snapped his head back to look at her, nodding toward the door. "You mind? It's a little hard to go under pressure."

He could just get a good look at her over his shoulder, surprising even himself when he skipped over everything else and locked on her eyes. Today, their blue was fierce, sizzling with more anger and pent-up emotion than he would've thought to give her credit for.

This final mutual gaze wasn't just another staring contest, and it silenced them both.

She was surprised to see something momentarily spark in his eyes when they met hers – not fear, exactly, but something close; amazement and a grudging respect. He turned back to the wall.

"Right. Like you have any sense of decency," she finally responded. She refused to give in wholly, but still ceded to his request by turning and staring down into the sink. "Two hours, House!"

"What's with the yelling?"

"Even for you, that's – "

"You're still yelling."

She paused, hadn't realized she'd raised her voice but just as quickly didn't care. His tone was teasingly nonchalant, and even though she hated that he knew just how to crawl under her skin, she sucked in a breath and released it. "I'm angry, House!"

And just like that the tables had turned. Only this time, he wasn't the one storming into her office, shouting about pulled authorization and dying patients while she played it cool. She glanced up, jumping when she saw his face in the mirror just over her shoulder.

He was already looking into her eyes, and hers bolted to his automatically.

She took a breath, could feel the power that she forced out of her voice channel itself down her arms and into her fingertips, as they gripped the porcelain sink tightly. "If you could stop acting like a jackass for two seconds and actually get along with another human being – "

"Cuddy." He stretched out the second syllable of her name, forcing her into silence. He was toying with her; she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, but she still let him speak. "If you could stop acting like a tight-ass for two seconds and actually get laid…."

He trailed off. There was a retort to that, and they both knew it. But she wouldn't give in to him, wouldn't be the first to admit to what had happened months ago. She had convinced herself that it had been a moment of weakness, would never happen again. But if they continued on this path and the tension built once again….

In the mirror, she saw her own eyes flash; his were smiling.

Cuddy carefully avoided the mirror, couldn't look into it without seeing him behind her. She had collapsed on the couch as soon as she had returned home, only rising when the doctor in her had finally overpowered her exhaustion and convinced her to change out of her wet clothes.

It had started raining just as she'd left the hospital, an icy, soaking rain that still chilled her. She had considered taking a shower, but didn't trust her legs to hold her up for its duration. Instead she cupped her hands under the faucet and splashed her face. The water was at once instantly refreshing and achingly cold. Scrubbing a soft towel over her face and flinging it onto the sink, she padded softly across the cold tile, intent on reaching her bed and curling up there for the night. Her arm brushed something soft and solid just outside the door.

In that instant before recognition, she started, her heart leaping into her throat, and she tripped over her own feet as she lurched backwards, knocking her head solidly against the doorframe. Sparks flew before her eyes and she cried out in pain, angrily shaking off the strong fingers that encircled her wrist to steady her. Swatting at him with one hand, she rubbed the heel of the other against her throbbing temple, wincing. He didn't try to defend himself.

Her voice trembled through clenched teeth, and she hoped he heard rage and not the tail-end of fear. "My God, House!"