A/N: Short-ish chapter today, but I will post Chapter 12 in a day or two. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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The following morning, after a broken night's sleep, Kitty woke up with a migraine. She was familiar with these headaches, they were a common side-effect of the medication she took daily for her angina. But she groaned – today she just wanted to have a normal day. Do all her usual weekend chores, catch up on some work, try to regain her sense of equilibrium. The events of last night were swimming around in her memory indistinctly and Kitty had the sense that it was some kind of bizarre self-preservation: it was better not to remember things too clearly for now. Not while her brain hurt.

She got up and forced herself to eat some breakfast and have a shower because sometimes those simple activities could make the headache recede. But not today. She put on some light cotton track pants and a soft knit that wrapped around her – her headache sometimes made her skin sensitive and she needed the softest, gentlest clothes. Instead of going back to bed, she lay on the sofa, a light mohair throw over her, Bach playing softly in the background.

Being forced to lie quietly with nothing but her thoughts for companionship was not what she needed. She needed activity, a workout at the gym, perhaps even a visit to her friend Fiona and her five-year-old twins – children generally didn't leave space for self-reflection. But the very idea of being in the same room as running, laughing, yelling kids made her wince.

Kitty realised she must have dozed off when she woke up to the feel of her hair being brushed back from her face. It was such a loving, gentle gesture, for a confused moment Kitty thought it was her mom.

"Hmm," she murmured sleepily, moving her head into the touch. It stopped immediately and Kitty heard the rustle of someone's arm being drawn back. Her eyes flew open, startled. It wasn't a dream!

"It's just me," a voice said.

It wasn't reassuring. Kitty had the room darkened and it took a moment for her eyes to focus on the person seated on her coffee table, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees so he could peer at her. She let out a breath as she gazed into those unmistakable blue eyes.

Kitty went to sit up, but her head instantly reminded her as to why she was lying down in the first place and she collapsed back against the throw pillow with a groan. "How did you get in?" She tried to make her voice as authoritative as possible, but given that she couldn't sit up and it came out as a hoarse whisper, she figured it wasn't very convincing.

"The door wasn't locked."

"I'm an idiot." Kitty belatedly realised that when she'd gone to bed after he'd left, she hadn't given the door a second thought.

"You won't get an argument from me."

"Can you go away? I'm not up for company right now." She closed her eyes in the hopes of shutting him out. Not only was she physically incapable of holding a conversation, she had no desire to pick up where they'd left off last night. None of it deserved revisiting, especially not now.

"Migraine?" House asked, and Kitty was grateful that at least he was keeping his voice low and quiet.

"How'd you guess?" The question was sarcastically rhetorical, but he answered it anyway.

"Darkened room, light blanket, Tylenol migraine-strength out on the counter in the bathroom, but mostly the Imdur in your bedroom. Treatment for chronic angina. Side effects include headache, dizziness, low blood pressure, syncope."

"Smart ass." He'd been in her bathroom and her bedroom? Kitty wondered how long she'd been asleep and how long he'd been in her apartment. From the light peeping in through the cracks in the curtains, she'd guess it was mid-afternoon.

"Have you tried any natural therapies?"

"Like what? I know you're such a big fan of them." Kitty figured he was having a jab at the PRC's alternative therapies committee – again.

"A recent article in the Journal of the American Headache Society found that orgasm is an effective treatment for forty-seven per cent of migraine sufferers."

"What?" Kitty's eyes flew open again. "Forget it. I'm not that half."

"How do you know? For the other half it has no effect, so isn't it worth a try?"

"Then there's the five per cent for whom it makes the headache worse." Kitty had read the article – she read widely about all kinds of pain research. She remained unconvinced.

"Bah, five per cent? That's nothing. I'm a betting man. I'm going with the forty-seven percenters."

"This is my headache. Go away."

House seemed to finally get the message and he sat back, shaking his head at her.

"Here I am trying to make you better and you reject me!"

"Uh-huh," Kitty said, her eyes fluttering shut. "Reject yourself all the way out of my apartment, please."

House made a muttered noise of annoyance and a moment later she heard him rustling around. She wasn't perturbed enough by his presence to be terribly alarmed, which, she figured, must have been why she dozed off again so easily.

This time when she woke he wasn't brushing the hair from her face. His finger trailed up her arm and then traced a path along her collarbone and down between her breasts. He stroked the swell of one breast where the knit she was wearing had gaped apart while she slept. She felt goose bumps prickle her skin where he touched her and resisted the urge to shiver.

"Leave me alone," Kitty protested, hearing how weak and unconvincing she sounded.

"I don't think you really mean that."

Kitty paused, sucking in a breath before she could say what was on her mind. "How can you want to? I mean after last night? After what I told you?" She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes.

"After you told me what an asshole Andrew Barnes was, you mean?"

"After I told you what I did," Kitty clarified.

"If I got it right, what you did was find a way to support yourself and your dying mother. It's so noble I could almost barf."

Despite herself, Kitty felt a bubble of laughter rise up inside her. She slowly opened her eyes to find him staring at her. His gaze held desire, curiosity, puzzlement. She was a puzzle and he looked as if he couldn't decide which he wanted to do most: solve her or have sex with her. What wasn't there, the thing Kitty had expected to see, was pity. There was no sense of the "poor little girl" who'd been corrupted by Andrew Barnes or the woman who felt she would never escape it.

"You get it." Kitty felt a swooping feeling in her gut, a little like a dizzy spell, only she was already lying down. She was understood. It was a feeling like no other – relief, disbelief, astonishment all swum through her. She'd thought no one would ever understand, no one would ever get what had been between her and Andrew. And now – ridiculously – his biological son did.

House shook his head. "No, I'm not entirely sure I do. I think that's why I'm back here. That and your killer legs."

"Ha." Kitty let out a brief, sad laugh. He did get it, she could tell from the look in his eyes. He just wanted to know everything, to have every piece of the puzzle, before he would be satisfied. That was why he was really here. Her relief was still there, but part of her dreaded the moment when he was going to push her for more, push to know all of it. But for now she just wanted his hand to keep doing what it was doing, stroking her chest, tracing the line of her scar, dragging her top further and further apart to reveal more of her breasts to him.

"Move back," he said gruffly, shifting to sit next to her on the sofa.

Kitty grimaced as she moved. The headache was still there and movement made the pounding return.

"I need more Tylenol," she said, her voice faint.

House grumbled under his breath, but she felt him get up and heard him in the bathroom. Shortly after, she felt two tablets being pressed against her lips. She opened her mouth to accept them and then lifted her head to meet the glass of water that he held for her.

"Thanks."

"Next time I'll bring you better drugs," he said.

Next time? Kitty was going to comment but couldn't find the energy to speak. She didn't say anything further as his hands moved over her. His touch was light, like a gentle massage, treating her as if she was fragile. Before she knew it, her cardigan had disappeared, her track pants and panties were gone and she was lying naked, the mohair throw tucked around her for warmth.

Kitty didn't know if this was what she wanted, this passive, submissive, giving in to him. Her hands ached to touch him, she wanted to feel every part of him, make him tremble and gasp like he was doing to her. But at the same time she knew she didn't want him to stop, couldn't have him leave without finishing what he'd started. Because she could feel herself opening up, trusting him more with each touch. All those times with Andrew's colleagues it had never been about her, about what she wanted or her pleasure. Which didn't mean that it had never been pleasurable, because sometimes it had. But it had mostly been about her being on display, being the main attraction in a scene that had been designed for someone else's satisfaction. Right now she felt on display in a totally different way. She was opening herself to one man and he was taking and treasuring that all for himself.

"Don't stop," she said, her voice no more than a breath.

"Wasn't intending to." His voice was flippant on the surface, but held a thread of tension, enough to let her know that what he was doing was affecting him. "Your skin is so soft."

It was awkward, the sofa wasn't really big enough for the two of them and she squished herself as far back into the cushions as she could to give him more room.

His hands traced fire where they moved over her, rubbing, gently pinching. Her nipples peaked in the cool air after he kissed and licked them; her legs parted without her conscious permission as his fingers delved between them. Before she knew it she was holding her breath, releasing it in short gasps, each one building the tension higher and higher.

"Oh God," she gasped, hardly believing this was happening to her, not when she'd been sure it never would again. Genuine, honest, straightforward pleasure from a man's hands on her body.

Her back arched, pushing into his torturous touch, wanting more at the very same time she wasn't sure she could take it.

"Come for me." His voice was half a growl and half a whisper and it sent her over the edge, crashing into blinding pleasure, her body contracting and grasping, distantly wishing there was more, that he was inside her, but seizing the bliss he offered and letting it carry her away.

When she returned to earth she was aware of his hand still moving against her gently, giving her little aftershocks, as his lips sought hers. He kissed her, and Kitty could feel his restraint. He wanted to plunge into her, to take her hard, and she wanted that too, desperately. But her body – and her mind – had had enough, and she didn't have the energy to encourage him; she knew couldn't meet his need.

Later. She'd make it up to him later.

His hand left her to pull the blanket over her nakedness and tuck it around her. He leaned in for one more kiss.

"Go to sleep."

"Mm-hmm." Kitty could barely manage the murmured agreement. She curled up, was conscious of the threads of pleasure still wending their way through her body, and then, blissfully, stillness.