Hi everyone!

I'm not even sure you remember me, or this story… well no, that's not entirely true, because actually, I hope you do! I really do! that's part of the reason why I don't give up…

Yet, I know: It's been such a looong time, and I'm so sorry to make you wait. I feel awful. But like I keep saying, eventually, it's only a matter of time before I finally find enough the courage to kick myself in the butt and sit down to get it DONE!

It's enraging in a way, because it's all there, in my head and I really wish there could be a machine, I don't know, some device that could just simply suck it out of my mind if I pressed a button. Wouldn't it be amazing? Writing that would flow like a fountain!

Anyway, unfortunately such things don't exist and then, months passed by and my life sucks me into other crazy spirals… but If You Let Me is always there, taunting me, somewhere hidden in the midst of my computer files, and I never really forget about it…

I'm often asking myself though: is it really worth it now? do people still care? Why would I keep going? but then I think about all those long hours I spent elaborating this story, thinking about it, researching, writing… and I think of all the wonderful support you've given me, the nice reviews you wrote, and I dare tell myself, maybe there's still someone out there who cares.

So, as sporadic and disjointed as my updates may look like, I SWEAR to you this story will be finished. And this time, I won't wait that long to post the next chapter…

Just blow a little more strength into me so I can carry on, and if you have 2 minutes… please, let me know you're still here! :)

Thanks for reading. I hope you'll like this chapter. Like I've said in my previous author's note, the rollercoaster is not over… so buckle up!

** Chapter 73 **

"So? Was it just a small pee, or did you end up having a poo? I mean, I got your message… obviously! Ok, not at all the kind of things I wanted to say!… Actually, well, actually, I… uh… don't really have anything to say. But you and I, we apparently have this sort of tradition going on between us, calling each other to say nothing! And you know how much I hate changes, right? I mean, sometimes I say things that make no sense; But I like your messages about nothing… And the messenger even more…"

Cuddy hung up her cell phone and put it down on her desk in front of her. She took a deep, deliberately slow breath to try fighting the overwhelming stream of tears she felt welling up in her eyes, but she failed miserably, and the first salty pearl soon rolled down her cheek. She had totally missed his message. She, actually, hadn't even noticed he'd called. There probably was a twisted, ironic reason to explain why she'd only felt the need to check her voicemail now and ended up listening to him telling her that.

Sometimes I say things that make no sense.

God, yes! And she, even more… But how could she know? She'd asked to be updated on Jenny Reed's status right after her husband had come to her office complaining about the inadmissible and insane bedside manner of the "worst doctor he'd ever had to deal with in his entire life" but since House had practically showed up immediately after, she still hadn't received the news when she'd vented her anger and utter frustration upon him, for putting her, yet again, in such an uncomfortable, delicate position.

Damn him! Was he at least aware of the crap she had to put up with because of him? Did he actually care about it anyway? Yes, she was fuming with anger. She'd put her job on the line! Because silly fool that she was, she thought she could trust him. And then what? He'd stomped over that, carelessly, because he didn't give a damn! Standing behind her desk, she'd watched him leave, after stomaching another round of his spiteful, cynical remarks. The sound of the door being forcefully slammed had made her jump, and she'd fallen down on her chair, stunned. And now she was still seated there, minutes after, mouth agape, emptied of all the energy she had left. That battle, that fiery passionate battle between them, where would it leave her? What was she going to do now, when the Board would find out about that? Her hands were still trembling when her phone rang, bringing her back to present time.

"Dr. Cuddy. What is it?" she practically barked into the receiver, unaware of her unnecessarily harsh tone.

"Dr. Cuddy," the voice cautiously answered. "You've asked to be updated on a patient's status."

Cuddy held her breath.

"Jenny Reed," the nurse's voice went on, "admitted three days ago for-"

"Yes, how is she?"

"She's-" The nurse hesitated a little before offering, "better."

"Better? How's that?"

"Yesterday morning she was unconscious, with a swollen brain but now, she's awake. She talks, and there's no fluid coming out of her shunt anymore. It could actually be taken out but, since Dr. House is no longer her attendant, because uh, well I- "

"Yes, I know. Run that by Dr. Chase. He's the surgeon who put the shunt, right? Let him sign the papers and authorize the procedure."

"Alright, I will, Dr. Cuddy."

"Thank you. And uh-" Cuddy sighed, tiredness and confusion taking over her. "Is the husband still there? With the patient, I mean-"

"He was in her room earlier, but he left. Said he had to go pick up his kids."

"Ok. Thank you, Helen."

Cuddy hung up the phone and rubbed her forehead to process the news: A dying patient, who wasn't dying anymore. Because of him. Thanks to him. She felt awkward, and the oh so familiar feeling of guilt that usually came right after started pervading her and fill her mind with a multitude of uncomfortable images: Of House, showing up in the clinic and limping to her with that smile. Then, his dismissal of the patient's problem and the mention of her husband being an accessory inconvenience. And her intransigence, the way she'd yelled at him, refusing to hear him out, but pushing both of them to flirt with the edge of that line she now regretted to have crossed.

Feeling the tears irrepressibly starting flowing from her eyes, Cuddy stood up and walked round her desk. She fell on her couch, finding a more comfortable place to hunch and cry, hidden in the safe corner of her office where nobody would see her through the wooden blinds. Minutes passed, during which her thoughts, confusing and self-conscious, locked her in a silent daze.

A knock on the door startled her and she promptly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands, pulling herself together before mumbling a reluctant "come in" through clenched teeth. The door cracked open, and Wilson appeared at the doorsill. Feeling relieved upon seeing a familiar silhouette, Cuddy allowed herself to relax a bit but remained guarded nonetheless, not wanting to expose her emotions too much, even to her friend.

"What do you want?" she asked him with a raspy voice.

She was seated, stiff as a stick, her chin up and challenging him with a bossy gaze. It was impossible to hide the salty lines the tears had left on her cheeks though, or the red-rimmed eyes under her puffy lids. Wilson immediately caught every clue as proof of her distress and looked at her with sorry eyes.

"What happened?" he answered with that tone he had each time he knew House was responsible for hurting her.

Cuddy sighed heavily and her shoulders sagged. She lowered her head and stared at her high-heeled shoes in silence for a few seconds.

"What has he done?" Wilson insisted, sounding slightly upset.

"He punched his patient's husband and nearly knocked him out to give her a treatment the guy had explicitly refused to give his consent for."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Wilson exclaimed, falling into the nearest armchair, and burying his face into his hands is utter dismay. "When is he ever gonna learn?" he asked, looking up again.

Cuddy bit her lip and gave him a shy, resigned smile.

"Never?" she offered.

A short silence filled the room.

"I'm a moron," Cuddy added uneasy.

"Huh?"

"House saved her. The patient, he saved her. She's feeling better now."

"Well, at least there's one thing he didn't screw up," Wilson commented bitterly.

"The Board was right."

Wilson's mouth dropped open and he stared at Cuddy, completely dumbfounded, not sure he even understood what the hell she was talking about. Cuddy took a deep breath and averted her eyes, feeling the weight of Wilson's judging gaze on her.

"It's my fault," she added, gulping. "I'm caught in some stupid administrative constraints. And I just yelled at him for doing what he did because, as usual, he didn't do it in the conventional way-"

"Punching a patient's relative being unconventional? That's putting it mildly," Wilson interrupted, grumbling disapprovingly.

"But I knew. I knew, deep inside, that he was right. I only felt compelled to disagree and yell because I don't want House to think he gets a special treatment, just because we sleep together-"

"Cuddy-"

"This isn't fair. Neither to me, nor to him. I can't keep living like that, Wilson. The Board was right: I can't compartmentalize my professional and private life, and it's starting to get between House and me. I don't want that. No."

Cuddy shook her head and took a deep breath before looking at the oncologist as if she'd just had an epiphany.

"I need to quit," she stated with a definite tone.

Wilson puffed and instinctively reached out to touch her arm as if, confronted to the absolute inanity of her decision, he felt the urge to shake her back to her senses.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he exclaimed, "what are you talking about? Someone obviously didn't get enough sleep lately-"

"I know what I'm doing," she said evenly.

"No, you're not. Seriously, are you listening to yourself? Quit your job? That's it, that's the solution you've come up with?"

Wilson glared at Cuddy reproachfully and it took her off guard. She wasn't expecting such a strong reaction from her friend.

"Just think about what it implies for one minute," he continued. "You can't dump the hospital like that. You like your job too much. And House needs you-"

"But I can't be with House and be the Dean at the same time. It'll kill us-"

"Cuddy, please, this is not true, and you know it. I'm not saying I approve of House's behavior because he's a jerk, but he knows better than just do stupid things and never learn any lessons from it. And when it comes to teaching House a lesson, you know you're the only one he's willing to listen to-"

"Pfft, House only listens to himself, that's all," Cuddy objected, sulkily. "I'm just an annoying screeching harpy to him-"

"Come on, don't say that. You know you're much more to him than just that."

"Maybe, but what am I supposed to do now? The next Board meeting is in three days, and I'll have to deal with this situation, then. Mr. Reed came to see me this morning, you know. He wants to file a complaint for assault."

"Jesus!" Wilson sighed empathically.

"What else is there to expect? House assaulted him, so naturally he has every right to. But once the Board learns about this, I'm screwed, Wilson. Campbell will revel in blaming House and use it as blackmail for his own benefit. How am I going to convince the Board members that I'm perfectly capable of dealing with House in the hospital's best interest now?"

"You said he cured the patient-"

"You think they care about that?" she puffed. "All they care about is the money. They don't give a damn about Mrs. Reed. What they do give a damn about, however, is how much House's little stunt is going to cost them!"

"But no one knows how to handle him better than you do. You know how to make a point with him. You know how to make him reconsider the things he does with the boundaries you set. If it weren't for you stopping his craziness sometimes, House would do a million more dangerous things than the ones he already does. I'm sure the Board is perfectly aware of that."

"If only it were that simple."

Cuddy sighed and hid her face inside her hands for a moment. When she tilted her head up again, she looked weary and disillusioned. Wilson leaned forward and gently squeezed her arm, as a sign of support.

"I'm sure it's going to be ok," he said unconvincingly.

She smiled to him hesitantly and pursed her lips into a sorry pout. Silence filled the room for a while.

"I feel like I'm schizophrenic sometimes, but it's not like that all the time, you know," Cuddy said, as if she needed to justify herself. "When we're together in private, it's so different-"

"I know," Wilson whispered, slightly embarrassed.

"I mean, it looks like we're arguing all the time and I spend my time yelling at him, but I swear-"

"Cuddy, you don't have to explain. I'm sure you and House have good moments together, otherwise you wouldn't be sitting here tormenting yourself about him."

"They're not just good moments, they're great ones."

"I know," Wilson repeated, comprehensively.

He felt suddenly useless and uneasy, so he promptly stood up.

"I don't want to disturb you any longer. You surely have a lot to deal with now."

"Yeah." Cuddy stood up as well and walked him to the door.

"Please, promise me not to make any rushed decision you'll regret later."

"I promise," she said, trying to smile fondly, but she held his gaze with unusual gravity.

# # # # #

Wilson left and the moment he stepped out of her office, a terrible anger pervaded him. He started to look for House, first in his office, but couldn't find him there. And he wasn't in any of the places he was otherwise used to hiding either. After almost half an hour of fruitless attempts at locating House in every corner of the hospital where he expected him to be, Wilson was about to give up when he thought of the one spot he hadn't checked yet. Soon after, he pushed the access door to the roof and finally saw the familiar silhouette, sitting on the concrete edge, a cigarette in one hand, head resolutely turned toward the horizon, staring blankly ahead.

Whatever it was, Wilson immediately knew House was meditating about something that most likely seriously obsessed him. Each time he was retreating to the roof, it was a sign he needed to think about important matters. Wilson took the first step and House, noticing a presence, turned his head in his direction. A smirk on his face, he watched the oncologist approach without a word.

"There's a reason why it says: Authorized personnel only on that door!" House finally said tossing his cigarette away when Wilson came near him.

He pushed himself off of the edge and stood up, while Wilson stared at him, still silent.

"What?" House asked, getting slightly annoyed. "I cured my patient. Do I not deserve some quality time alone to celebrate?"

The two men were now facing each other. House, leaning on his cane, scrutinized his friend, visibly intrigued.

"You usually have a reason to chase me up here, but given the look on your face, I take it you didn't come to celebrate with me, so go on, say it! What is it? Erin dumped you and you need comfort? Or one of your cancer patients died and you feel guilty you couldn't give him another two months-"

"You're an ass," Wilson hissed angrily through clenched teeth.

For a second, House's eyebrows imperceptibly arched in surprise. Not that he minded the little calling each other names, but he decided it was definitely not the time for whatever reason Wilson had decided to patronize him about. He started to walk away, firmly resolute to leave before he would get caught in another annoying conversation. He hadn't taken the first step when Wilson stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"How could you do that to her?" the oncologist carried on, glaring at him.

"Save my patient's life? You're right, it was such a badass move!" House scoffed.

"I don't mean her, I mean Cuddy-"

"Damn, but of course! Why didn't I think about that sooner? What now, she ran to you to whine about how such a bad, unmanageable employee I've been again? So, you promised you'd teach me a lesson-"

"She didn't run to me! And she didn't whine. Jesus, House! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you realize what you did? You assaulted a guy and now he's going to sue the hospital-"

"So what? Like it'd be the first time! Yes, it means crappier administrative forms to fill and more comprehensive, sorry smiles to earn forgiveness for her. But that's her job! Mine is to cure patients. And sometimes, it involves getting rid of the moron who prevents me from doing it a little bit roughly! Here's some shocking news for you: Losing one's life is usually more definite than having a black eye or a broken nose. I'm not hitting people for fun, Wilson. It's called prioritize. And until dying becomes fixable, that's how I'll function. You can go back downstairs and explain that to her bureaucratic, fucked-up logic."

"You're so self-centered, God, it's incredible!" Wilson spat, angrily. "This isn't always about you or what you think is right. You're not almighty, House. You screwed up and you have to take responsibility for it. You don't even know what you've put her into-"

House briefly let out an ironic laugh.

"Oh, but don't worry Musketeer, she loves to clean my shit anyway," he said with a smug grin. "It gives her the occasional good reason to yell at me with her bossy voice. That's how she gets off, you know. It's a sort of turn-on-"

Wilson glowered at him with a sickened look on his face.

"Great!" he said curtly. "And how do you rank putting her job on the line on your sexual scale then?"

House's smirk instantly faded and the look on his face changed from conceited to confused in a blink of an eye.

"Yes, that's right! The Board is after her, House. They keep questioning her about the way she's going to handle you now that everyone knows you two are in a relationship. They implied she can't be objective as your boss. And Cuddy? Well Cuddy, with her bureaucratic, fucked-up logic as you put it, she defended you! How ironic is that, uh? Because she thought she could trust you not to ruin everything."

House's eyes grew wider, and he gulped, visibly shocked by what Wilson had just told him.

"I was there, with her, while you decided that your highly questionable ethic was worth breaking some guy's nose." Wilson carried on, inwardly rejoicing that his friend finally seemed to register how much he had screwed up. "I was sitting next to her, watching her bravely stomach the barbs and the innuendos. And you know what she said? She said she was positively sure there would be no problem. She even offered to resign if anything happened that would prove her wrong. And now, look what you've done! This is not about you, House! Can you just, once, understand that everything is not about you?"

House stood there, his hand imperceptibly wobbling as his grip tightened on his cane's handle. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked away to hide his embarrassment and avoid Wilson's unsustainable stare and then, promptly walking past his friend, he left the roof without a comment.

When he heard the loud bang of the metallic door being slammed, Wilson sighed heavily and looked upward to the sky, shaking his head resignedly.

# # # # #

In the emptiness of his apartment, House was sitting at his piano, an old blues song playing on his stereo and filling the silence of the room. The afternoon had gone by and with it, the last remnants of his smug self-confidence. Wilson's impromptu visit to him on the roof and the unexpected nature of the news he'd come to deliver had completely taken him off guard. He'd tried to hide it, behind another one of his legendary cynical outbursts but he'd been shaken, undeniably.

Cuddy's career, jeopardized because of him was not something unusual, though. It was not as if he'd never messed up with the rules, with her, or played with boundaries, always pushing them farther to exercise medicine in the unconventional way he stubbornly decided was the right one.

But this time the stakes felt completely different. House knew there were lines he shouldn't allow himself to cross – lines he was still crossing anyway, without giving it a second thought – but it was not what bothered him, really. What bothered him was that those lines had shifted, imperceptibly, and they were now standing closer than they used to, tantalizing him, daring him. How far could he go? How unimportant was it going to feel to bend the rules now? How unconcerned could he still pretend to be?

Things had changed, drastically. In spite of everything he was forcefully trying to deny, he couldn't pretend it was ok to be that same old jerk he'd always been without consequences anymore. Consequences for him, and consequences for her. That last part, specifically, was the one terrifying him the most. Suddenly, it was as if he'd become dreadfully aware of the part he could play in her life, how intricate their destinies both were: You screw, I fall. And vice versa… It was dizzying.

And now, he was alone, feeling like an idiot, whose screwed-upness had done, once again, possibly irreparable damages. What else was new anyway? He was selfish, useless, and wrong. And maybe it was too late, too late to make it right.

The evening was lazily spreading outside his window, dark and chilly in those early days of spring, and apart from his desk lamp, House's living room was only lit by the dim light of a streetlamp coming from the sidewalk. Two, or maybe three bourbons? He couldn't remember how many he'd drunk already. He was staring at his piano's keys, all of it an indistinct grey, and waiting. Waiting for what, exactly, he wasn't sure, but he was hoping there would be something, a sign, any sign, to wash away the doubt of that uncertain hour and give him an indication of what would most probably come next.

He hated uncertainty. He hated when he lost control over his feeling of almightiness and that was exactly what was happening to him now. The last notes of Billie Holiday's Stormy Weather faded away and quietness invaded the space again for a few seconds before the next tune began. House sighed and stood up to fill his empty glass with another dose of numbing alcohol. The gold liquid burnt his throat and he winced at the sensation. The knock on the door almost didn't surprise him: Time to have his answer had finally come.

"Door's open!" he invited wearily, putting his glass down atop the grand piano.

He watched her as she entered his apartment and closed the door behind her. She stood at the threshold, searching for his silhouette in the semi-darkness and when she located him, she slowly took her coat off and dropped it on the nearest chair. House took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, she was sitting next to him on the piano bench, silent.

"Done with your day?" he asked, self-consciously, looking straight ahead to avoid facing her.

Cuddy didn't answer at first and a loud ticking sound started buzzing inside House's ears, like the final countdown of a bomb. It took him several seconds to realize it was the sound of his heartbeats. He finally found the courage to turn his head toward her. She was looking down, her hands rested on her lap. The hoarse, bluesy voice of Billie Holiday was still singing, along with the chords of an old piano that echoed into space, and it filled the room with a melancholic vibe for a while.

"Mr. Reed came to my office again this afternoon," Cuddy finally said softly, and she turned her head to the side, meeting his gaze.

House stiffened and a cold shiver ran down his spine. She smiled crookedly and raised her chin toward his face.

"He's dropping the charges. He's decided not to sue anymore."

Upon hearing the news, the lump in House's throat instantly dissolved, and air found its way in his lungs again. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Really?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could. "Maybe he's not that much of a moron then."

"You talked to him, didn't you?"

"Tss, me? Why would I do that?"

"House-" Cuddy searched for his hand, alongside his thigh. When her fingers met his, she squeezed it, ever so slightly. "He said you were in his wife's room early this afternoon."

"Forget what I just said: He is a moron."

"I don't know what you told him-"

"Nothing! I just checked the patient's vitals, wrote her a prescription, the usual doctor stuff."

"House-"

Her voice was the softest plea for confession. He sighed, defeated.

"Thank you," she whispered tentatively.

"Cuddy, don't-"

"You know, he thanked the hospital and he particularly insisted on thanking you, for saving his wife's life."

For the first time since she'd stepped into his apartment, House allowed himself to smile.

"You made him write that down on paper, didn't you?"

"In three copies. One for you, one for me and-"

"One for those stupid bastards from the Board?"

She looked down embarrassingly for a second.

"They're not stupid. Their concern is legitimate."

"Fuck their concern! You're doing what you have to do, and you're doing it well. You shouldn't be accountable to anyone for anything other than work. Which means you certainly don't have to put your job on the line because of me."

Cuddy shot him a slightly panicked look, wondering how much of the deal she had with the Board he really was aware of. As if he'd read her mind, House rolled his eyes theatrically.

"Yeah, how much longer do you think you could've hidden that from me? Jesus, Cuddy! You should have told me! From the moment you first mentioned that Board meeting, I knew something was bothering you. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me help you?"

"I tried-"

"You tried? Wh… How?" His eyes widened in bafflement.

Somehow, she knew he was right and suddenly it hit her: He was the one responsible for screwing things up, but she'd been just as much irresponsible, for being dishonest with him. She'd left him in the dark. If she'd told him what the Board, and Campbell, were reproaching her, things would have been different. Cuddy was sure of it.

She had absolutely no doubt that House would have never jeopardized her position intentionally. But by keeping her reckless, gambling move to herself, she'd almost screwed things up even more, when all she really needed was for him to be there, supportive, to help her prove them wrong. She should have trusted him and now she was feeling stupid and awful for keeping that to herself. House was a good doctor. She believed in him and always had, long before there had even been anything serious between them. Sometimes, like in that particular moment, she wished everyone could see him like she was.

"House, forget it. It's ok," she said, a bit regretfully. "Problem's solved. Patient is happy. I'm not resigning or anything!"

Something in her voice betrayed her discomfort and House deciphered it as proof of her guilt. He realized the last thing they needed in that moment was to keep dwelling on it much longer. They both were stupid, stubborn, proud idiots and if it hadn't been a proof of how passionate they both truly were, it would probably have been risible.

"You're exhausting," he deadpanned.

"I'm just doing my job!"

"Duh! You threatened to quit based on the crazy assumption that I would be the nice and gentle doctor you know I never am! And you didn't even bother warning me about it beforehand! Frankly? You suck at your job," he provoked, but he couldn't hide the little glitter of pride in his eyes.

From the opposite corner of the living room, the stereo continued to play Billie Holiday and the melody of My Man resonated into space. After the first notes, House laid his long fingers on the piano keys and started playing, following the gentle rhythm of the ballad.

It cost me a lot / But there's one thing that I've got / It's my man, it's my man...

Mesmerized, Cuddy couldn't take her eyes off of his hands, dancing on the keyboard and creating the perfect musical echo to the song. House turned his head to the side and looked at her: Her beautiful profile, slightly leaned down. Out of the blue, the lyrics came to his lips, and he started singing along with the blues lady, with a low voice, almost a murmur.

Cold or wet, / Tired you bet / All of this I'll soon forget / With my man...

Cuddy's face instantly shot up and she locked eyes with him.

He's not much on looks / He's no hero out of books / But I love him...

House slid his hands off of the piano and stopped playing.

Yes, I love him, the raspy voice of Billie holiday repeated.

Cuddy closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

"About this morning," she started hesitantly.

"Shut up!" he commanded.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?"

She'd almost confessed that with resignation. House remained silent and Cuddy spotted the glass of bourbon on the piano. She grabbed it, slowly drank a few sips, then put it back on the black glossy surface and stood up. Positioning herself in front of him, she carefully straddled his lap, heedful of his bad thigh. He welcomed her in his arms, and she smiled at him fondly.

"Why?"

"Why what?" House asked, intrigued.

She cupped his scruffy cheeks inside her hand and leaned down to his face.

"Why does it have to be you?" Cuddy blew hoarsely just an inch away from his lips.

The raw simplicity of her question but, moreover, the sweet surrender to its inescapability took his breath away.

"I don't know," he whispered with a husky voice.

Cuddy sighed voluptuously and stood up again. Her eyes riveted to his, she slowly buttoned down her shirt, and he watched her, enthralled, as she seductively uncovered the perfect silkiness of her ivory skin in front of him.

"I've missed you," she confessed.

Her shirt fell down on the floor and House leaned in to nuzzle her breasts, inhaling deeply, and filling his nostrils with the delicate smell of her warm skin. Cuddy threw her head back and she let him. Unhesitatingly, she let him. Nibble gently at first, almost shyly, then bite and kiss and rub possessively. A powerful desire rose inside of him and wiped the last remnants of his restraint away. In a matter of seconds, he unhooked her bra and he kissed her again, greedily, while his arms encircled her waist and squeezed her tight, so tight she thought he'd squash her ribcage.

She moaned and grabbed a handful of his hair at the base of his neck, and it felt as if he'd waited for that moment for far too long. His impatience turned into an irresistible need. He wanted to smother her with kisses, everywhere. There was not an inch of her skin he hadn't missed, not a spot of her body he hadn't long to taste during those hours, those tiring hours that had kept him away from her. But now she was offering herself and he took her, unreservedly.

Her rosy, erect nipples were just there, under his nose, taunting him and he sucked one inside his mouth nipping at the sensitive bud teasingly. Cuddy arched her back toward him and he caressed her back with his long hands, enveloping her shoulder blades and pressing her against him, closer. They would have to move out of here soon because the feverish passion that was taking hold of them both was dangerously becoming too demanding to be contained into the tiny, wobbly space of his piano bench much longer.

House's mouth left her breast but his lips, rebelling against reason, shifted to the other and claimed her nipple ravenously. Just one more kiss and he would take her to his bed where he'd make love to her until they'd both collapse. He sucked her areola between his lips and grazed it with his teeth. An odd sensation of warmth spread inside his mouth. He grunted and Cuddy answered with another moan.

Without a warning, House suddenly straightened up and unceremoniously spat into his open palm. She stared at him, puzzled, and looked down at his hand.

"What?" she asked, already feeling the thudding sound of her heartbeats speed up under her ribcage.

House wiped his hand clean on his jeans and locked eyes with her, looking dreadfully dazed.

"House, what is it?"

"Nipple discharge," he said tonelessly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, whatever shit you had in your breast, it's not gone," he answered, staring straight into Cuddy's panic gaze with gravity.

A/N

Thank you, ALL OF YOU, reviewers, silent readers, twitterers, friends and LJ companions for encouraging me to write this story, for telling me you appreciate it, for waiting so patiently, and for being still here, with me, after all this time.

Have a great summer! ~ maya