A/N: Hey all. I know I was supposed to end this in 3-4 chaps, but I need 5 to tie it up. (I know, always go longer than I say I will.) Thanks to the reviewers: jkarr, Boo's House, freeasabird14, lenasti16, MissBates, OldSFfan, housebound, Abby, MWoods78, Suzieqlondon, Little Greg, Bere, HuddyGirl, IkissedtheLaurie, Melanie, maya295, dmarchl, Bladesmum, LoveMyHouse, Huddyphoric, Ann and the Guests.

-Tests-

The first week together was going to be spent at House's apartment at his insistence. In spite of the equipment that she'd gathered to monitor his vitals, Cuddy still had trouble sleeping. After years of listening to the beeps and hums of the same machines, they were suddenly glaringly loud and distracting. He slept with amazing soundness the first night she monitored him. The methadone guaranteed that. Every time she'd get close to deeper sleep, the slightest elongation in the seconds from one beep to the next woke her. Oxygen levels held steady for most of the night though, enough to finally allow her to rest shortly before morning.

After she showered, she cursed the poor lighting in his bathroom as she tried to hide the evidence of an inadequate night's sleep. When she stepped out from the bathroom and finished dressing, he was reading some publication that rested on the kitchen island while he drank his morning coffee. The fact that he was already dressed was strange, given that it was only a few minutes after seven. He actually had one mug ready for her, allowing the coffee to cool just enough so she could finish it quickly.

"Eating?" he asked without looking away from his reading.

She pulled an apple out of his fridge that she'd left during a previous visit, sulking for a moment when she saw it had flattened on one side when it had begun to rot. "No time," she answered, fluttering past him to finish getting ready so she could get to the hospital early enough to plan for her nine o'clock meeting. She bustled back the kitchen to say goodbye, and found the room empty. There wasn't time to figure out where he'd gone, so she grabbed her purse and found him leaning against the wall by the door.

His jacket was already on, backpack slung over his shoulder as he asked, "Ready?"

"You are going in now?"

"I can't sleep without someone with me as per our agreement, so I better keep moving. Besides, I don't have a new patient yet and your last meeting is at three. We still have four sexless days to make up for. Thought we could work on making up some of the deficit this evening."

The thought of him arriving for work at shortly after seven wasn't just different, it was bizarre, but she didn't have time to argue about his motivations, and spending an evening in his apartment having sex certainly sounded like a great way to end the day, so she nodded, "Alright. I should be done by five."

"Perfect," he answered, grabbing the door knob, opening the door and gesturing for her to step through.

Goodbyes had often been weird for them. They didn't ever exchange friendly hugs, and if they kissed before parting, it was usually because one of them was trying to build anticipation for the next time they'd meet. "I gotta run," she said, sort of waving goodbye before she walked through the outer door of his apartment building.

She hopped in her car, immediately turning the key in the ignition and quickly checking her reflection in the visor mirror before she shifted the car into drive. As her eyes drifted to the side mirror to see if it was safe to pull out, she heard a sharp knocking on her window. House was standing on the curb, tapping the glass with one knuckle as he stooped down to look in her car. She hit the button to roll down the window and said, impatiently, "I really have to get to work."

He reached in, hitting the control to unlock the door before he opened it, and filled the passenger seat with his long frame. "Then let's go."

"You're riding in with me?" she asked as her hands dropped from the steering wheel into her lap.

"Why not? Unless…," he paused as he scrutinized her face. He nodded with an acceptance that seemed so unlike him. He wrapped his fingers around the door handle and whispered as if someone could possibly hear them alone in the car, "I get it. You don't want people at the hospital to see us show up together. You said you don't mind the rumors, but I guess confirming them is an entirely different situation. It's no problem."

He was far too accommodating, that seemed painfully clear as she considered the accusation that she was hiding the extent of their personal relationship. She heard the sound of the door latch disengaging so he could get out, and she suddenly stated, "You probably shouldn't be driving until we're sure of the effect the methadone has on you. Buckle up."

House pulled the door shut again and sat back, somewhat disappointed that the outcome of his maneuver could lead to her questioning his ability to operate a vehicle.

Before she started to drive, she said, cautiously, "I think we need to be careful at work."

"I was screwing with you," he countered with irritation. "I can drive myself."

"I'll drive you," she firmly stated. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm not going to live my life to please other people, and besides, we both know most people at the hospital think we've been having sex for a long time. But I think I should talk to HR…as a precaution."

"About what?"

"I need to make it clear that you and I have a relationship beyond work. I don't care if people know, I don't mind driving you in, but I need to be careful because of my position." He hadn't expected this move. "House…," she started, trying to get his attention again, "you don't have to decide right now. I'll call you a cab if you want time to think about it. But if you want to be more open about this, I need to think about my career. I need to be smart."

"You want to go to HR and tell them that I'm not your boyfriend or your friend, but we're practically living together because I'm trying methadone to manage my pain and, oh yea, we've been having sex for months and will probably keep having sex for a while? Is that what you're planning on telling them?"

"I may not be quite that specific, but that's the general idea." He stared ahead, clearly disconcerted by the fact that the test he had tried to run had an unexpected result. She cleared her throat, "I have to get to work. If you want to, take today to think about it."

He shook his head, closing the door, "I have nothing to hide."

He thought maybe he'd called her bluff, but she nodded and smiled as she pointed at his seatbelt, "Okay. I'll set up a meeting."

House was certain she'd change her mind, but later that day, they sat in HR. To the best of her ability, Cuddy tried to come clean about their relationship while House listened to every word and watched every flinch or change in her posture. At the end of the meeting, under the watchful and skeptical eye of the HR Director, they both signed agreements that their personal lives would not interfere with their duties at the hospital. Oddly enough, the relationship that didn't even exist was on file with HR at Princeton-Plainsboro.

Little had changed between them under the terms of their new arrangement. More of her personal items were in his apartment and it was convenient knowing that they'd be spending each night together without having to set specific plans. The only other noticeable shift was simply the amount of time spent. Since they didn't have as much time alone, they began to see things they hadn't before.

Cuddy was horrified when she watched House dig a loose checkbook out of his desk drawer to pay his bills. The top check was bent and one edge of the book was crimped from the way it had been shoved into an overcrowded drawer. He didn't record his checks or balance his account. He didn't necessarily wash his dishes after every meal as she would have, but living with him wasn't nearly as disordered as she'd anticipated. He was also welcoming in ways she hadn't expected. At some point he'd stolen some granola and a few apples from the hospital cafeteria, and he often watched things on TV that he thought she wouldn't hate. At the end of each day she would hook up the equipment to check his oxygen level and monitor his heart while he slept, and they were reminded that this situation was both serious and temporary.

Near the end of the first week together at his apartment, the home phone rang as they stood in the kitchen. It was late at night, and House was making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Cuddy handed him the phone so he could see who was calling. The hand-off was awkward since their focus was on an argument they were having about the dangers versus benefits of trying insufficiently tested treatments, but when he took the phone, her thumb brushed the button and inadvertently answered the call. Although the argument wasn't angry, it was spirited, so Cuddy was animatedly defending her position when she saw House wince at the phone as he licked the remaining peanut butter from the knife. She stopped talking while she tried to figure out the problem, and then she could hear the tiny, muffled voice of a woman emanating from the phone, asking, "Gregory? Are you there?"

His eyes closed as he lifted the phone and brought it to his ear and answered, "Hi, Mom." Taking a few steps away from her, Cuddy heard him say, "Watching a movie. What's going on?" He grabbed a glass and poured a drink before he went to the sofa and sat. He'd kept his promise to avoid mixing alcohol and methadone, but it was clear he wished his drink could have been stronger.

Cuddy couldn't hear the conversation, but she could see him. He looked different as hints of the deference and admiration he'd had for his mother in his youth could still be seen beneath his rough exterior. At the same time, the misanthropic, stubborn, independent adult in him seemed to want nothing more than to get off the phone with the only living person who had known him since birth.

The call didn't last all that long before he returned to the kitchen, pouring more to drink. He glanced up at Cuddy before he turned away and said into the phone, "I won't forget…I know. Bye."

As soon as he'd disconnected the call, Cuddy said, "I am so sorry."

"She was going to catch me eventually."

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine. She needs me to do something for her," he disinterestedly replied. "It's probably for the best. If I didn't answer soon, I'm sure she would have shown up on my doorstep, and, face it, it would be harder to convince her you're a movie if she's staring at you."

While getting a cup out of his cupboard to have tea before bed, she found several mugs near the back in various styles, all with unfamiliar names on them. "Who are Gary and Roxanne?" Cuddy curiously asked, holding those two cups in her hands.

"How should I know?"

"Why do you have their mugs?"

"Because there weren't a lot of mug-lovin' Garys or Roxannes who went to the stores I bought them in." Cuddy wrinkled her forehead, still confused and waiting for an answer that made sense. House finally explained, "At the end of the year, when stores get new merchandise, they sell last year's stuff for dirt cheap. They always have crap with names on it."

"And you don't have the money to buy them at full price?"

He shrugged. "I have a normal set…they were a gift. Why waste the money on something stupid like mugs?"

Cuddy held up one that said 'James' and smiled, "You got one for Wilson?"

House admitted, "That's the only one he isn't allowed to use. Irritates the hell out of him." She smiled, giggling softly while she finally selected the 'Roxanne' mug and he added, "I was sure you were going to go with 'Gary.'"

Somewhat tentatively, she asked, "Do you think she would like me?"

"Roxanne?"

"Your mother."

"You want to meet my mother?" he asked, jaw slightly slack with shock.

"Oh, no. I was just curious, if she would have shown up on your doorstep…I was wondering what she would have thought."

"She'd wonder why you don't want to make me official." He leaned forward slightly with a straightforward expression that made it clear that he expected an answer to something that wasn't technically a question.

Concentrating on carefully selecting an herbal tea from the cache she'd brought with her, she took her time before replying, "Did she like your girlfriends in the past?"

"I guess. We're not really a heart-to-heart conversation kind of family. I didn't make a lot of special visits to Mom's for dinner." He stepped behind her, putting his hands on the sink on either side of her and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I don't know what that would tell you anyway, since it's like comparing apples and oranges."

"What do you mean?" she asked over her shoulder, her cheek brushing against his face when she turned.

"Whatever she may have thought or not thought about my girlfriends, you…are not my girlfriend."

"True," Cuddy said, sidestepping to the sink to get water while he followed.

"But…what's not to like?" House asked while he peered over her shoulder, watching his hands move over her stomach and leisurely rise until they cupped her breasts.

"I'm stubborn."

"I like persistent women," he said before he nipped at an exposed piece of her shoulder.

"I'm career-driven."

"Which means you have money."

"I like doing things my way," she said as she held her hand under running water.

"Your way is alright…sometimes."

She laughed, knowing he wasn't really listening and loudly asking, "When have you ever liked doing things my way?"

"Try me," he answered, undeterred by her doubt because he was too interested in her body.

"Unzip," she ordered, expecting him to ignore her already. He did as he was instructed although his mouth never left her shoulder and neck, and his hands were sliding back around her as soon as they were free. "I'm also kinda mean," she said as she reached behind her back between them. One hand, a hand that had been heated under hot water in the sink, slipped into his boxers, and he felt the warm way her fingers wrapped slowly around his sex, escalating his already nascent level of arousal.

"You're not so bad," he insisted, only vaguely realizing that her other hand was still under running water.

"You sure?" she asked as her other hand, one that had been under very cold running water, interlaced with the warmer fingers of her other hand and firmly surrounded him. His chest expanded as he inhaled sharply before he unsteadily exhaled. The confusion in his nerves as his body registered the alternating feelings of hot and cold made the sensation so wonderful and intense that his hands actually let go of her for a moment, his fingers extending before they conformed to her shape again. "Feel good?" she asked.

"Yes," he growled as he pressed against her, her hips pushed against the sink while her hands remained between them.

She continued until the chill in her fingers was nearly gone, warmed by the heat of his body and friction, so she turned, putting her hands on his hips and pushing him back a few steps. Going to the freezer, she tossed a few ice cubes in a glass and gave him a look so devilish and sweet that it felt as enticing as her warm and cold fingers had seconds earlier. She rubbed one cube against her lips, her tongue wrapping around it occasionally to lap up the droplets of water that were forming.

He closed the space between them, leaning down and kissing her chilled lips before he slipped his tongue warmly into her mouth. Her fingers, icy again, ran up his neck and the back of his head, and he pulled back for a moment, with more than lust making his eyes heavy. He shook his head as she seductively licked his lip, and then she smiled and asked, "What?"

"I like your stubborn, mean ways," he admitted. "If other people don't like it, more for me."

"Be careful what you say," she teased, "I'll be harder to get rid of when you get bored."

"What words, exactly, should I avoid so I don't get too tied down?" he joked back.

She ignored the question, as she seemed to ignore any question on this topic. In that moment that contained both levity and longing, he admitted silently that he, without a doubt, was in love with her. He saw the proof of that as clear as day because, if given the choice, he would have chosen words over deeds. He wanted her to answer his questions, all of his questions, more than he wanted the physical pleasure she was about to offer. He wanted to know if there was a way that he could have just a little more of her. He needed to know if she felt the same way. He was almost positive he could see the signs, but either she wasn't willing to accept it, or if she had accepted it, she wasn't going to admit it to him.

He needed a test, something that would show an honest reaction in an unexpected moment. A moment that wasn't confused by feelings that came from sex or friendship or jealousy, and could point out to her exactly how she felt in a way that he could plainly see and she couldn't deny.

His plotting was disrupted when he felt her cold lips brush against the head of his cock, moving over him like he was the ice cube. "I even like how you tell me shut up," he commented.

Pausing for a moment, she smirked at him without even the pretense of innocence. Her eyes gazed up while she wrapped her lips around his sex and sucked her cheeks tightly around him. Accepting that this might not be the best time to think, he placed his fingers at the back of her neck and decided he'd be a complete fool to push for answers he wouldn't get when the alternative she'd offered felt so good. There would be plenty of time to think later.

Later hit hard, as thoughts pummeled him and weighed like cinderblocks. Since he'd begun the methadone, sleep usually came easily, but as he was lying in bed with her next to him, relaxed after his orgasm, all he craved was answers…and her. It was a constant, demanding need. It was hard to admit, but what he had simply wasn't enough. It seemed almost ridiculous to him that he had what many men would consider a perfect arrangement, tons of mind-blowing sex with a beautiful woman who expected almost nothing from him. Yet the need remained, inhabiting even the spaces between thoughts and the milliseconds between breaths. Focusing his peripheral thoughts on the beeping machinery around him, he worked on his plan.

During the next two weeks, they continued as they had. Practically living together didn't lessen any feelings that were there. Near the end of their third week of cohabitation, Cuddy raised a few concerns about the possible onset of methadone overdose. Methadone overdose was less dramatic than most opiates, because usually it would happen gradually as too much of the drug built up in the body. His oxygen saturation was declining and he seemed a bit sleepier, and when she asked him to consider having the dosage lowered, he agreed to try it.

She set her alarm for every thirty minutes, much more frequently than normal, but until they lowered his dose, she didn't want to take any chances. She slept lightly, and was woken by the panicked sounding of an alarm. Adrenaline surged through her body as she responded. His oxygen saturation was very low, and his heartbeat erratic and slow. She tried to wake him, but he didn't open his eyes. As she called his name and shook him, there was still no response, and she could hear the panic in her own voice. Reaching over to the side table, she grabbed a syringe full of Narcan that she had kept hidden from him to counteract an overdose. Even though her body was on medical autopilot, she could disconnectedly hear herself speak. Her voice was cracking, and there were tears forming along the rims of her eyelids. "I'm not letting you go that easily," she said as she continued to work. As she popped the lid off the needle with her teeth, she said, sadly, "I need you here with me."

Her fingers fumbled for his pulse just to be sure the equipment wasn't malfunctioning before giving him the powerful shot. She felt confused when she found a perfectly rhythmic thump in his neck and it felt like he was still breathing normally. She reasoned that, if he were okay, he would have woken up from the noise, so something was clearly wrong. Leaning past him to turn on a brighter light, she kept her fingers at his pulse point, and when the light came on, she saw his fingers and lips weren't bluish from oxygen deprivation. His hand moved slightly, taking the syringe as he popped open one eye and said, "So I have to almost die to get you to admit that you need me to stay?" It wasn't quite the confession that he'd hoped for, but it was enough.

She glanced at the display nearby and he smiled, sitting up slightly and reaching behind the display to remove something. The moment he removed it, the cacophony ended and the steady sounds she was used to returned.

"What did you do?" she asked, initially more shocked than angry.

"This is a training module you can plug in and use for students. It simulates a crash. Cool, huh?"

"Not cool," she shook her head. "Not cool in any way. That was…a practical joke? A prank to see if I still know how to handle an emergency? Please explain to me in as few words as possible how this is supposed to be funny."

"It wasn't supposed to be funny. I wanted to see how you'd react," he answered simply.

"I'm not a guinea pig," she argued as she slid away until her feet were on the floor.

"I needed an honest, spur of the moment reaction."

"You thought I'd let you die?" she practically screamed.

"No. But the truth came out. I mean a lot more to you than you're willing to admit. I could hear it in your voice…so fess up."

She covered her face behind her hands as she shook her head, "That was cruel. Next time you want to know something, just ask."

"I've tried asking. I've gotten a lot of great reactions. Strip teases, blow jobs, you bent over your desk, and, believe me, I cherish all of those things…but I don't ever get answers."

Walking angrily over to the chair near the bed, she said as she pointed to the display, "Is that working correctly now?"

"Yea. It's fine."

"Get some rest. I don't feel like talking."

"Get over here," he complained.

"I can't simply calm down after that like nothing happened. I was worried you were dying. That's not just a funny-House-prank to me. You screwed with my head just to get answers, fucked with my emotions. I'm gonna read. I can see you just fine from here. Go back to sleep."

"You're upset because I proved that you feel something for me."

"I've already admitted that. I don't know what else you expect from me. Just…go to sleep, House."

She waited for him in the morning, giving him a ride to work because she was still worried about his condition. His oxygen levels weren't terrible, but they were lower than normal. Overdose was still a real possibility. The ride was largely silent. He was surprised that she'd waited for him at all.

Later that morning, House watched Cuddy talk to Cameron as he waited across the ER. It was hard to tell what Cuddy was saying, but he was pretty sure he could make out the words "I'm sorry" as they came from Cuddy's lips. For a second, he wondered if they had been discussing him, but Cuddy put a hand on Cameron's arm in a reassuring way and it looked like, whatever was being said, Cuddy was pleased with Cameron. He walked closer, carrying a cane in case his leg muscle grew tired, but he wasn't leaning on it nearly as much. He could see Cuddy's demeanor change as he came closer. Cuddy clearly said, "Nice work," to Cameron before she stepped away, nodding wordlessly at House as she continued on with her day.

"What did you do?" House asked Cameron as he leaned his back against the counter next to her.

"What did you do?" Cameron countered, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Cameron wryly answered, "because clearly Cuddy isn't really upset with you."

"Some people don't like to have their skills assessed." Cameron, mouth agape, quickly turned her head toward him with a look of horror, so he explained, "Medical skills."

Turning back to her work, she replied, softly, "I probably don't want to know."

"Why did she apologize to you?"

Cameron, with an open and honest look on her face, said, "She apologized for stealing you away from me." It was obvious from his expression that he didn't believe her. After a second, Cameron dramatically rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Is that what you wanted to hear? It wasn't nearly that interesting."

"Try me."

"She recently cut hours down here on the nightshift. I've had to come in almost every night for the last month because we're short-staffed. She came to tell me that she likes how I'm running the ER, and gave me back the two staff members she cut since they're obviously needed. I know it's weird, but we were talking about hospital business…here…at the hospital."

"She apologized for cutting your staff," he disappointedly admitted, frowning.

"Yes. What were you hoping for?"

"I wasn't hoping for anything," he answered. Cameron's lips formed an unavoidable smile as she nodded her head and he argued, "What?"

"I can't imagine why there'd be any trouble in dysfunctional paradise."

"What makes you think Cuddy and I have a paradise at all, dysfunctional or otherwise?"

Cameron's eyes widened as she smirked, "You've come in here with her almost every morning for the last three weeks. The fact that—you know what? I don't want to get involved, so whatever answers you're looking for, I don't have them."

"Jealous?"

"I am not. I'm engaged, happily, I might add, to a man who wants a relationship with me. I'm not trying to hide the fact that I'm with someone because I'm too embarrassed to admit that—"

"I'm not embarrassed," he interrupted.

Cameron stepped up, prepared to dish out the truth as she saw it as directly as House had done to her a hundred times. "You want to know what I think? I saw that little interaction between the two of you just now. She didn't yell or boss you around or stomp away on her heels. She's not angry, she's hurt, which is completely different. Women like Cuddy don't get that hurt about work, they get that hurt about things that are personal. About people who matter. She has feelings for you. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Just because she has feelings doesn't mean that we're—"

"Like I've said, you've come in here with her almost every day. You two had a meeting in HR the first day you drove in together, and you almost always come out of those meetings griping about whatever complaint has been filed, but you didn't say anything. You frequently joke about something going on between you and Cuddy, probably trying to hide the truth by being open about it. The two of you were sneaking around for months before that."

"Are you stalking me?"

"You've trained your current and former teams to miss nothing. And we're all over this hospital. Tell me it isn't true?" Cameron challenged.

"Or maybe we're messing with all of you."

Her one eyebrow shot up with disbelief before she shook her head, grabbed her files and began to walk away, answering, "I don't have proof of anything. What I know is… you think she might have feelings for you or we wouldn't be having this conversation, but nothing I can tell you or you can deduce will give you any definitive answers. I know you, and not knowing the answer to any question will drive you crazy. Sometimes it's better to do whatever you need to do to find the truth. If it doesn't work out, you can lick your wounds and get on with your life. It's better than dragging it out. Trust me." Her tone was momentarily somber before she pressed her lips into a straight, serious line and nodded.

"Maybe you're a saboteur who's planning on leaving Chase and begging me to run away with you?" he half-teased.

"Not a chance," she replied. Before she disappeared into the room with the patient, she said, sincerely, "Some answers can't be found by running tests."

"They can if you run the right tests."

"But some tests destroy the sample." She looked at his miserable expression and questioned, "How are those tests working out for you so far?"

Cuddy stepped into his office shortly after lunch, with her fingers worriedly entwined. He had no idea what to expect. Perhaps the test that he'd run on her the night before had inadvertently become a test of him.

"Are you riding home with me?" she asked.

He stood determinedly, walking over to her like it was his mission. "I need to say something."

"It was a reasonable reaction on my part," she started to argue right away, expecting him to try to further justify what he'd done.

"I know it was," he admitted. "I wanted answers you wouldn't give, but my methods weren't the best."

"Is that an apology?"

He tilted his head back and forth and replied, "More like a confession."

"Thank you."

"Sure. Now, in return, I need something from you."

"You want me to pay for your apolog—for your confession? There's a catch?"

"I need you to take off tomorrow. All day. And give me off too."

"That's two things."

"I'm not done. I have something I need to do tomorrow afternoon, and I want you to come with me. It'll only take a couple of hours, but I need you to agree, no questions asked."

She folded her arms and shook her head, "Why would I agree to that? I'll find myself running naked through the hospital or hosting an orgy for—"

"We won't be anywhere near the hospital."

"But the orgy's on the table?"

"The nature of our activities is not specifically sexual. If things should turn sexual…it's probably your fault anyway," he replied.

"Can you give me a hint?"

"I have to do one thing, an errand for my mom. The rest will be sort of like restitution for last night," he said.

"Is she gonna be there? I'm not prepared to try to explain thi—"

"She won't be there. Now stop asking questions. Come on. Trust me."

"You do realize that you're the same man who practically broke down my door to tell me that I wasn't safe with him and would never be safe with him…so the same man I'm not safe with wants me to trust him?"

"It's a fine line, but I walk it well." Watching her hesitate like a woman prepared to make a major decision, he finally stated, "You asked me to trust you with that meditation-yoga crap, and with my life since I started methadone, but you can't trust me for a few hours? I need you to do this. Think of it as your chance to test me. If I blow it, you can write me off forever."

"I can't take a day off last minute like that."

"Yes, you can."

She turned away slightly but her eyes stayed on him, "Alright. Are you riding home with me tonight?"

"As soon as you approve our day off."

As they went to the garage that night, he felt the dread and impatience of knowing that it was time to correct her flawed belief that a life full of the things she wanted was out of her reach. It was time to face what he had known for months, Cuddy needed to see reality again. He knew he'd grown complacent, they both had, avoiding facts, evidence and realities in favor of keeping a non-relationship that was the closest they'd probably ever come to a real relationship with each other. But the truth was clear, if Cuddy squandered years with him, and later realized that her brass ring had been within her reach, she would resent him. Tests had been run and data gathered. The truth had been set in his head like an imprint left in cement that was fully dry. He knew how he felt. He couldn't ignore it or change it anymore. He was almost certain that Cuddy loved him as well. Her concern for him, the look in her eyes, the pain that she'd felt at the thought of losing him, all added up to love. Any satisfaction that could have come from believing he'd proven that was dampened by his belief that she'd built all of these feelings on a lie.

She'd decided months ago that she was abnormal, doomed to life without love and family. It was only after she'd committed to abnormalcy that she'd allowed a pseudo-relationship between them to develop. If she was only with him because he was the best option under the circumstances created by her denial, it was shaky ground to stand on. If he was going to expect some answers from her, she deserved to see the truth. He was an all or nothing guy, and it was time to find out if he could have all or nothing.