A/N: Hey guys, thanks for hanging on, updates are still slow, obviously. I'll try to get the next chapter up by next Friday (the 6th)

Thanks so much to all readers and the reviewers: IHeartHouseCuddy, BabalooBlue, grouchysnarky, linda12344, jaybe61, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, freeasabird14, ikissedtheLaurie, JLCH, LoveMyHouse, Suzieqlondon, JM, CaptainK8, the Guests, dmarchl21, KiwiClare, Mon Fogel, Ann, devonfc, Boo's House and Jane Q. Doe.

-You've Lost That Stalkin' Feelin'-

"You don't think it's slightly unfair that you guys are ganging up on me?" Wilson asked while he watched Rachel wrap her arms around the poker chips on the table and pull them toward her.

"Separate them by color like I showed you," House told Rachel before he blinked his displeasure at Wilson. "You want me to make the kid play on her own? We have separate chips, separate hands…"

"Which means you have the advantage of knowing more of the cards that are in play. No wonder I'm losing."

House leaned down to Rachel and said with a tone of dripping remorse, "I'm sorry, Rachel, now that you're all grown up, I'm not allowed to help you anymore. Uncle Wilson thinks it's not fair. In a way, you should be proud to be such a poker threat before kindergarten."

Rachel looked at House suspiciously, and decided to fix the plastic tiara that she had chosen to wear instead of a dealer's visor. She stirred up the cards, all face down, until she was satisfied that they were shuffled enough. House started to gather the cards into a pile and said to Rachel, "You don't have to play if you don't want to."

Standing on the chair and leaning her elbows on the table top, she answered, "I can do it myself."

"Or," Wilson strategized, "we could take turns helping you. I like helping too."

Rachel slid the pile of cards from House to Wilson so Wilson could cut the deck, and then she started to deal. She couldn't answer while she carefully dealt the cards because dealing correctly took all of her concentration. When she was done, she looked at Wilson and shook her head, "S'OK. I can do it."

The pot was impressive as both House and Wilson were convinced that they had the winning hand. Rachel slid enough chips to the center to keep playing. "You guys bluffin'?" Rachel asked.

"You're supposed to try to figure that out without asking," House replied. "If you ask, some people won't answer, and some of the people who do answer won't tell you the truth."

"That's not fair."

"If you don't like it, don't ask."

"I can lie?"

"To me? Only when you're playing cards."

"OK," Rachel answered while she placed the river card.

House and Wilson were both considering their hands, facing off, and Rachel said, "I didn't break Mom's flower cup."

House squinted at his cards and turned slowly to the little girl, who was studying her own cards and refusing to look at the man who was very good at pulling the truth from her. "Her vase? Yesterday?" he asked.

Rachel nodded, still without looking at House.

"Perhaps I should have been more specific," House explained while he chose his words, "You can lie to me when playing cards, but only about the cards or the game."

"Oh."

"I like how you think though. That could be very useful for-"

Wilson cleared his throat, pointing at the table where his cards were face-up. "Can we skip this slightly questionable lesson in ethics and finish the hand?"

Rachel turned over her cards and House grinned, "Well, it looks like she was right. She can do it herself. four-of-a-kind beats a full house."

"You cheated," Wilson silently mouthed at House.

"How did I cheat? You cut, she dealt."

"Guys," Rachel said like the little adult she could be, "it's just a game. Settle down." She started to gather her chips and then realized her victory, "Uh oh, Uncle Wilson, you lost all your fake monies."

Wilson looked at the empty spot on the table in front of him and nodded, "It appears that I did."

Rachel smiled, jumped down from the chair and disappeared.

"How did you do it?" Wilson asked.

"I didn't. The child has a gift."

"Being dealt four-of-a-kind is a gift…that is certainly true."

"I didn't do it."

Rachel ran back into the room and whispered something to House. He answered, "Oh god yea, he'll love that."

Wilson watched the child run happily from the room as he asked, suspiciously, "What will I love?"

"You'll see," House answered, looking at his phone.

"Everything alright?"

"Cuddy keeps sending me texts that include enough information so that I know where they are and what they are doing without trying to make it obvious that she wants me to know where she is and what she is doing."

"Do you think she's lying?"

"Nope. I didn't ask for updates, so she doesn't have to say anything. She wants me to know."

"Maybe she's trying to demonstrate transparency. She wants to ease any fears you might have that she's crossing lines. Were you acting jealous or uncomfortable before she left? Worried that she might try to have a taste of forbidden fruit?"

"She wouldn't bother with other men after having me."

"Maybe you've forgotten how hot she is. You're used to her."

"I never forget how hot she is."

"So you trust her enough that you can stay here while she's out there?"

"Apparently."

"I'm impressed, House."

"Don't be. I know Cuddy. She knows guilt. If she crossed any lines, the guilt would kill her and ruin any temporary fun she might have in the process."

"So you only trust her because you think she'd feel guilty?"

"She's not the type to cheat," House confessed. "Even when she should have, she didn't."

"Wait a minute. When do you think she should have cheated?" Wilson asked while he wondered. "Does that mean she didn't let you hit that before she broke up with Lucas? You took her out, made her dinner, did all of that, and she made you wait…and you actually listened?"

"Hit that? How dare you speak of my betrothed in that way?" House asked with his best attempt at a prudish reaction.

Rachel skipped into the room, "Hitting is not nice." She sat next to Wilson and held out two vials of nail polish, "What color?"

Wilson wavered, "Is that really what you want to do?"

"I'm going to teach you a new word," House said loudly, "welcher. As in 'Uncle Wilson is a –'"

"I'm not," Wilson interrupted. He turned to Rachel, "If this is what you really want to do with your winnings, that's fine."

"What color?" Rachel persisted, holding out the bottles. "This kind comes off?"

House nodded, "Yea, the kid-safe stuff peels off. Go borrow some of your mom's." Rachel hesitated, but House assured her, "I'll take the blame. If you ruin it, we'll buy a new one."

When Rachel disappeared, Wilson theorized, "I think Cuddy's setting a precedent. She wants to know your every move while we're out for your party."

House looked down at his phone, staring at something for a second before he responded, "No, that's not it. She already knows what we're going to do."

"Maybe she thinks you're lying, and she's worried."

"Why would I want to have sex with someone else? I had plenty of time to see what's out there. I'm satisfied that I surveyed a representative sample of the options and ultimately selected the best one. She knows I'm smart enough not to fuck up what I've got."

"So no strippers?"

"Of course strippers. Just no private party add-ons."

Rachel returned with a bottle of Cuddy's nail polish and sat in front of Wilson. She held out her hand and waited for Wilson to surrender his fingers. The paint was everywhere, covering skin and missing large portions of nail. When she finished the first hand, she picked up sparkly stickers and put one on each nail, mangling several of the tiny pieces before properly placing the first one.

When the first hand was fully adorned, she looked at her project and beamed with delight. Smiling up at Wilson, she said, "You're my nicest buddy."

Wilson grinned proudly.

"What? Seriously?" House blurted. Although he was convinced that he sounded like he was joking, it was pretty obvious that he was a little hurt. "I'm not your nicest buddy?"

"He gets to be my buddy, and you get to be my dad," the girl answered without any consideration before she started Wilson's other hand.

House sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest while he watched Wilson pay off his gambling debt. The child said something so significant as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

An hour into a Curious George marathon, Rachel and Wilson were both asleep. Rachel took up a large portion of the sofa for someone of her size, leaving just enough room for House to stay tucked in the corner as Wilson slept in the recliner.

Cuddy hadn't sent any updates for a while, but when House felt his phone vibrating against his stomach, he was pretty sure he knew who it was.

"You need me to bail you out already?" House asked. "Is your stripper pressing charges? I'm used to it, but most men aren't really prepared for how aggressive you are."

"No," Cuddy scoff-giggled.

"You got tired of having a barely-filled banana hammock thrown in your face?"

"Are you kidding, I was worried he was going to put out an eye." Cuddy waited a few seconds for a response and then asked, "Are you there?"

"Yea."

"We didn't have a stripper. We're at a club, you'd hate it."

"What kind of club?"

"Dance music, throbbing speakers, flashing lights, sweaty men, and fifty-two kinds of martinis. Not your sort of club."

As soon as she said 'fifty-two kinds of martinis,' he knew exactly where she was. "I try to forget that you actually like that sort of thing," he answered.

"That's why they brought me here."

"Are you drunk?"

"Not really drunk. Maybe a little…tipsy."

"Judging by how tipsy you sound over the phone, slow down to about a third of a drink an hour, and you'll be fine. It will be a lot more fun for both of us if you're not puking up your good time when you get home tonight. But I'm really confused. You don't need me to bail you out, and they took you somewhere you like to go…and yet, you're sitting on the phone with me. Is your sister being extra irritating?"

"I was just wondering what you're doing."

"Babysitting our kids, what else would I be doing?"

"Kids?"

"Rachel and Wilson. They're both sleeping."

"You're…really at home?"

"Yea, Cuddy. Why do you sound so disappointed?"

"I'm…I'm not. I just…I thought you were here."

"Why would I be there?"

"I don't know. Stalking?"

"Stalking?"

"Don't act so confused. I can think of plenty of incidents of stalking, jealousy-filled visits, and let's not forget that you paid a significant amount to send the last guy I dated on stakeouts just so you could hang out with me."

"$6,298. If I include hourly rate, fees and expenses."

"You're joking."

"Overnight jobs and extensive travel are expensive. The work is finished and now I reap the benefits."

"What's that mean?"

"I won. You're with me." When she didn't respond, he added, "I am also demonstrating my level of trust, so this would be a great time to comment on what a wonderful man I am."

"Yea, that's great."

"This is seriously fucked up. Are you…upset that I'm not crashing your party?"

"That's crazy, of course I'm not."

"OK, because you sound upset. Should I attribute this display of really baffling behavior to your entire gender or to just one member of it?"

"I was just teasing," she said with a chipper fake laugh to follow-up. "I was just…calling to check on Rachel."

"She's fine. And you're lying." House could hear people calling for her in the background. "Go enjoy your music, lights and martinis."

"I will, thanks. Kiss Rachel for me."

"Have fun, Cuddy."

She answered with a mildly deflated, "You too," before she hung up.

Julia was waiting, arms folded, "Is he calling you? He can't give you one night alone?"

"I called him," Cuddy argued, "I was checking on Rachel."

"I'm surprised he didn't show up," Julia answered.

"Me too."

"You sound disappointed."

"Why would House come here?" Deb, Wilson's new girlfriend, asked.

"He could turn up anywhere," Julia drunkenly answered. "You really never know. It's disturbing. I love my sister, but let me say that she and House are practically made for each other. They're both insane."

The three friends went back inside and spent the next hour dancing and enjoying their night out. Cuddy went to the bar to grab another round of drinks for her group, and she found herself surveying the crowd for House. With a little annoyance, she wondered why she'd ever hoped he'd show. After all, a night out was a healthy thing. She had plenty of nights out on her own, and he had time to himself too. Still, there was something about being pursued by him that she'd enjoyed in the past. She wasn't into overly jealous behavior, but if he wanted to be a little possessive or express his continued interest, that wouldn't be a horrible thing.

There were definitely some positive things about being in a long-term, solid relationship, but sometimes she missed the uncertainty and excitement of the time before they were together. She returned to the conversation with her friends, her mind a little fuzzy from the alcohol, and then her eyes caught him. He was at a table near her, calmly watching her with a drink in his hand. She tried to avoid smiling when her eyes met his, but her attempt to look angry was pointless. Her friends started pulling her back to the dance floor, knowing that the night was almost over. When Cuddy turned to find him, he was already gone.

Before she could start looking for him, she ran into his chest. "Your man doesn't mind you going out on your own?" he asked.

"What makes you think I'm with someone?" she smiled.

"You're way too hot to be single. And you have a rock on your finger that was obviously purchased by someone with exquisite taste and a gigantic…bank account."

She wrapped her arms around him. They were sort of dancing, but not really to the music as they stood at the edge of the crowd. "He is successful."

"So if you have this successful man at home, what are you doing out here, flaunting the goods for these losers?"

"Flaunting the goods?"

"Well, it's hard not to flaunt them. They're sort of self-flaunting."

"When you talk about these 'losers' does that include you?"

"Clearly it doesn't."

"Well, I am out tonight for my bachelorette party."

"You're getting married soon?"

"Next weekend."

"So I don't have much time to make an impression. I'm guessing that since he has money, he's probably really ugly."

"He's not ugly. He's very good looking. Very sexy."

"A handsome trust fund idiot?"

"No, he's a doctor, he's made his own money. He's very smart. What do you do?"

"I'm a stripper. Big and tall, if you get my drift."

She couldn't prevent a slight giggle, "I get the picture. You're very humble."

"Extremely."

"Don't get me wrong, dashing stranger, you're hot, and it's very tempting, but my fiancé has brains, looks, money and a sarcastic sense of humor that I really enjoy. He has it all."

"No guy has it all, except maybe me. Maybe he's crappy with kids."

"He's great with kids."

"I'm sure he's lousy in bed."

Cuddy smirked, slowly shaking her head, "He's fantastic in bed."

"Well, you seem like the type of woman who deserves to have it all. But," his tone switched from flirty to accusatory, "does he know you are just a little crazy?"

"Why would you say that?"

"See, I have this theory that you were secretly hoping that I'd crash your party tonight."

"House? Is that you? I couldn't tell through your amazing disguise," she teased.

"They say the best way to hide things is in plain sight…so I thought, why not show up, looking exactly like me? Your behavior makes me think that maybe you enjoyed my stalking."

"You're the one who's crazy."

"I'm really not. Admit it, you liked that I crashed your dates and kept after you until you were mine."

"I didn't like that you crashed my dates."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Well, if you were going to crash my dates, I would have liked it better if you would have provided an alternative…like asking me out yourself."

"But once I did, I was hard to refuse."

"You were. And that's the part that's fun to remember. Remember how much we wanted each other? Remember how hard it was not to act on that attraction?"

"Believe me, I remember. And I still want you that much. I just get what I want more often, so you see the wanting expression less."

Cuddy answered so absently that House wasn't sure if she intended her response to be heard, "No one ever made me feel like that."

She started to step away without saying anything further. The only indication she gave that he was to follow her was a quick glance toward the back of the room. When they reached a short hallway near the restrooms, Cuddy walked to the last door on the left and entered.

"How did you know this was here?" House asked with a proud, knowing look while he shut and locked the door.

"Lucky guess?" she countered, answering his question with a question.

"How much of this did you plan?"

"None. But I've been thinking about you all night," she answered seductively. "I really want to have an irresponsible fling during my bachelorette party."

"Is this a test? Am I supposed to take some sort of high road here?"

"It's not a test. This is one of those times that I'd really like you to adhere to a stereotype and start thinking with the other head. Can you do that? For me?"

He pretended to carefully weigh the possibility and hesitantly capitulate, "Well, for you…I could try."

She wriggled and slipped out of her panties, letting them drop down to her feet before she stepped out of them. At that moment, it seemed painfully obvious that they were who they had always been. She was beautiful, alluring, just a little daring underneath her controlled exterior. He was chasing her, pursuing and desiring her. After nearly two years together, they still wanted in each other the very things that had attracted them in the first place.

He covered the small space between them quickly, his hands surrounding the lower part of her thighs and lifting along her legs to hike her skirt. Her lower half felt the chill of being exposed with the warmth of his body in front of her and the feeling of his wide grip covering her ass. She started to say, "We have to-"

But he interrupted her with his own, "I know," because he knew she was going to say that they had to hurry.

She worked quickly to open his jeans, fighting for concentration through the feeling of him touching her. Somehow he'd exposed her left breast and lifted her body a little higher because he had to have it in his mouth. He had to taste her, to feel her nipple pinched between his lips. He was distracting her, her hands stimulating him more through incidental contact while she tried to open his jeans than from any purposeful attempt to touch him. He was sighing anyway.

He lowered her onto a large black case, probably something used to haul equipment or instruments, at the moment neither of them really cared what it was. Her legs encircled his waist as he felt his body vibrate with the anticipation of being with her. His head bowed when he moved inside her.

They often had to steal moments for sex because of their hectic lives. For some reason, that had become part of the fun for them. They had to find ways to carve out a few moments from each day to be together. It was as if something had always tried to keep them separated. It kept the spirit of longing alive.

There was something convenient about working together, they could find time for lunches away and occasionally sneak in private moments at the hospital, but usually working together kept them wanting. Most of the time, they would see each other and little could be done to allow them to act on their desires. It was something of a welcomed torment for House to watch her, and he would watch her. He could see her buzz through the hospital, observe her in ordinary slices of time all day, but his access to her was frustratingly limited.

She had the same longing for him. When she'd see him working through his latest case with his team, looking so unhappy when really he was feeding off of the puzzle, she always felt drawn to him. Sometimes he was so unkempt, his shirt wrinkled and barely buttoned, and his hair mussed up, that it looked like he'd just had sex. That post-coital look had always made her want him even more. She still enjoyed the way she'd feel his eyes on her from up on the balcony. He still waited for that moment when she'd remind him, through a look alone, of exactly what they'd done during lunch.

Of course none of those thoughts were coursing through their minds while they were screwing in a storeroom. The excitement from the tension and the forbidden hue that their entire relationship was painted in made them exciting partners, but time and experience had made them experts.

All they really knew in that storeroom was how good everything felt, how exciting it was, how they were sneaking off to have sex with the same person they'd fall asleep next to later that night. Cuddy started to get a little too loud. She might have been doing it because she knew he loved to hear her, or she might have been doing it because she felt that good and her inhibitions had been lowered. He told her she had to be quiet, but it only seemed to make her a little louder, and he wasn't about to surrender one of his hands to cover her mouth. His one hand was trapped between them, flat and low on her abdomen while his thumb swirled around her clit, and he needed to brace the other hand to keep his weight off of his leg. She called his name and waited for him to look at her, catching and holding his eyes for what amounted to two seconds at the most. Within those two seconds, she told him so much. She told him with that look that he was the one who was on her mind. The glance, seductive and certain, made it clear the he was what she wanted. It was this flash of connectedness that would slice through the heavy fog of lustful fucking and elevate what they were doing to something more. Even at a time when desire demanded nearly all of his attention, he could feel that additional connection.

When there was a pause in the music, they could hear how loud they really were. They could hear their breaths, her moans, the groan in his chest, the squeak of his sneaker on the tile and the shift of the case she was leaning on. These ordinary sounds that had been masked by the obtrusive noise of the music drove them to the edge when they were allowed to be heard. The music started again just as they muffled the sounds of their orgasms.

House seemed disinterested in leaving the room too quickly. She watched while he fixed her bra as if he was wrapping a glass globe to be shipped. While his hips were still nestled between her thighs, he straightened her shirt before he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was sort of endearing to see him trying to put her disheveled self back together, so she decided to help him as well. She smoothed the fabric of his shirt and he whispered, "If I look too nice, people will be suspicious."

She tugged and wrinkled his shirt again, and he seemed satisfied.

"Thanks for crashing my night out," she said.

"You made it worth crashing. If I would have known how much you like it, I would have crashed more things: baby showers, graduation parties, donor dinners-"

"You have already crashed all of those things at some point."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Next week, when you're a respectable married woman, does that mean no more secret little hookups?"

"Are you kidding? We can't lose this. If anything, we need to do stuff like this more, keep things exciting."

"We could elope. We can start keeping things exciting right now."

"You'll have to settle for this boring life for one more week."