A/N-Thanks to all who've read so far and favorite/followed and to the commenters: IHeartHouseCuddy, Jane Q. Doe, ammeboss, lenasti16, JLCH, JM, aussiefan12, OldSFfan, bere, Boo's House, ikissedtheLaurie, LapizSilkwood, Mon Fogel, dmarchl21, BabalooBlue, Guest, jaybe61, Huddy4Ever, CaptainK8, freeasabird14, maya295, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, LoveMyHouse, LisAvenger, Guest, KiwiClare and linda12344.

-A Pair of Lies and the Clinical Tell-

The night after their discussion in his living room, House woke in the early hours to the sound of footsteps. Cuddy was there, walking into his room from the hallway. She stood by the door and before he could speak, she held her finger up to her lips to tell him she wanted him to be quiet. He was still in bed, but propped his body up on his elbows while he watched her. Without a word, she began taking off her clothes. She wasn't really stripping, it wasn't for show, but he couldn't deny the beauty and allure of the sight of her, removing her clothing right in front of him. She met his eyes occasionally, a tempting smile finding her lips each time she caught him looking at her while she disrobed. He tried to sit up, but she walked closer, holding her hand out so that he'd stay where he was.

She got into bed, sitting on her knees next to him, he could feel the bed shift under the weight of her body. He couldn't say no, not anymore, not when they were there like that in the dark of night, alone together. The look on her face made him feel alive, made him want her more than he'd wanted anything in ages. Looping a graceful leg over him, she leaned forward, she was on all fours, surrounding his body, but somehow not touching him. Her face moved closer, he could pinpoint the places on his body where he would feel her first once she allowed the gaps to shrink. The visit had been entirely quiet except for the environmental sounds around them: squeaking floor boards, a creaking bed, the rustle of falling fabric and fluttering sheets. When she finally spoke, she asked, "Do you want me, House?"

He nodded his head, unequivocally offering her an answer, the look of need in his eyes proving his intentions to her.

"Tell me. I want you to say it," she whispered.

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that he needed her more than he'd ever needed a woman. He wanted to make her believe every syllable that he was about to speak. But he said nothing. It wasn't for lack of trying. He kept waiting for the thoughts in his head to emerge as spoken words which never came.

She tilted her head, accepting the reality with a bit of regret. He looked down between them, at the slice of light that separated their bodies, and tried to lift his arms to pull her closer, to convince her to wait until he could find his voice, but his limbs were too heavy to lift and he watched while she pulled her body slowly away from his.

"I always knew you didn't really want me," she said after she picked up her clothes.

And he woke. It was the same fucking dream. There were different versions: one in his office, one in the clinic, one at the bar he frequented. It always ended the same, with her naked and so close he could feel her, but when she wanted him to react, he couldn't. He was waking up every night and most mornings like that, feeling aroused, lonely and irritated. He tried taking more Vicodin, he tried taking a little less Vicodin, he tried adding sleeping pills, but the dreams persisted.

When he had seen her that Monday morning, he expected her to be at least a little nervous or concerned while she was awaiting his next move, but he was the one who seemed to be affected. She looked relaxed, refreshed and perfectly at ease. And for his retaliation, he did absolutely nothing.

When she looked even more relaxed on Tuesday morning, he started to wonder if she'd already started seeing someone, because as tired and frustrated as he looked, she didn't appear to be tense in the least. He saw her in the halls and she acknowledged him. She wasn't too friendly or too curt, she acted as if everything was normal. When they bumped into each other on an elevator, she offered a friendly smile as she noticed how disgruntled he was. "You OK?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he snipped, "so you don't have to come over and check on me."

"Wilson's sweet. He meant well," she commented before she stepped out of the elevator, "but don't worry, I won't be stopping by for any surprise visits."

He started to wonder if she knew the way she was tormenting him in his dreams and then he wondered again, quite unhappily, if her calm was the result of a new man in her life, if she had so simply moved on past the tension and flirtation they'd been nurturing for years and found something simpler.

By Wednesday morning, after far too many Cuddy teasing dreams, he realized he'd have to do something, because things were getting worse instead of better. Cuddy had the upper hand, but he was going to get it back.

Wilson followed as his friend walked to the clinic, talking about a reality TV marathon that was coming up.

"Hello…," House looked down at the file, "twenty year-old male with an infected piercing."

The patient turned his head, revealing the infected piercing at the top of his ear for examination. The angry, streaky skin was spreading to his face. "Something's really wrong," the patient said calmly, "none of my other piercings did this. It's red and my skin feels really hot."

"When did it start?"

"Yesterday it started looking really nasty. It hurts. Thank god it didn't happen when I had my wang done."

"What?" House asked, shaking his head.

"Oh sorry, I meant my-"

"I know what you meant. The 'what' was a statement of disbelief, not a request for a translation."

"Want to see?"

"I'll take your word for it."

"Anyway, nothing else got this bad. I don't know what's wrong."

"You have cellulitis. I'll give you a prescription. You also choose really stupid displays of rebellion, or whatever it is that your piercings are supposed to be proof of. There's no prescription for that."

"Cellulitis? Is that bad?"

"It's not good."

"You're against piercings and stuff, aren't you?"

"I just like to use certain parts of my anatomy for other things. Often things that don't involve really sharp metal objects. But, it's yours, so do whatever you want with it. If anything falls off, keep it on ice and don't stop at the clinic. Go straight to the emergency room."

House began to write the prescription and Wilson questioned, "What are you going to do about Cuddy?"

"Nothing," House answered.

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"I mean nothing. She was just screwing with me."

"I think…she was serious."

"Cuddy wanted proof she's the alpha. She was trying to get a reaction."

"She succeeded. Have you slept at all this week?"

"Who's Cuddy?" the patient asked.

Wilson folded his arms, explaining, "Some people would argue she is the best looking woman in the building. A woman who's smart, funny, actually interested in him."

"Nice going, man," the patient said, nodding at House approvingly.

"Oh, no," Wilson added, "he turned her down."

"No wonder you're so pissy."

House glared at the patient, "This is my natural charm. And I didn't 'turn her down' because she wasn't really offering. She's not interested, it was a power play. A game."

"All she wanted," Wilson explained, "was for you to make…some sort of effort. To step out of your safe, unhappy little comfort zone and show her that she's worth it."

"You heard her, she said she was interested and then said the moment had passed…so essentially, she took it all back. Or…she was never interested in the first place and she was just screwing with me all along. No matter what, it wouldn't have mattered what I did because her mind was already made up."

"I think that, 'sure, Cuddy, I'll go get a drink with you,' might have made a difference. Or even, 'Yes, I'm insane for turning you down, any chance you'd still consider going out some time.' Either of those statements would have worked."

"Forget her," the patient answered, "I'd go for the bossy one who was out there, yelling at that nurse. Grey eyes, black hair, perfectly round a-"

"I don't think she's interested in pincushions," House interrupted, glaring, knowing immediately who he had last seen speaking to the nursing staff in the clinic.

"All that I know," Wilson jumped in, trying to hold House's attention, "is that if you would have put in a little effort…things might be very different right now."

After the patient was gone, House limped out to the counter at the center of the clinic and stood near Cuddy while they both made notations in files. "My last patient wanted your number," House commented.

"Did you give it to him?" she asked without concern, signing off on one chart and moving to the next.

"He's right there," House answered, nodding at the overly inked and pierced young man grinning from the door. "He has piercings in some very sensitive places."

"An interesting answer to the question of whether or not you gave him my number."

"Like you'd go out with a guy with hardware." She stopped writing, pondering the idea, and he added, loudly, "Oh my god, are you…considering it?"

"Maybe."

"Would you actually go out with a guy with a metallically en-"

"Depends," she interrupted.

"On what?" House scoffed, "exactly what condition would make that a viable option for you?"

"Well…is he interested enough to come over and make a move? Or is he going to stand by the door, grinning at me and waiting for something to happen?"

"He has metal in his penis…on purpose."

"Might be fun," she said calmly before looking at House's face for a reaction.

When he caught her playful expression, he smirked a bit and then he saw it. The truth became perfectly clear when she stretched and her fingers slid down the graceful shape of her neck while her attention turned back to the files in front of her.

She sighed with sarcastic disappointment, "He's probably a little young for me, so I guess I'll never know."

House didn't answer, so she looked back at him and could see the mischievousness look on his face as an idea occurred to him. "What?" she asked, "what's that look?"

"See ya later, Cuddy," House said before he grabbed his cane and hurried away from the clinic.

She had been awaiting his next move. She did her best to look unconcerned, but the truth was, a scheming House was a dangerous opponent. And when she saw him in the clinic, he definitely seemed to be snapping out of his funk and returning to his more devious ways. She fully expected him to do something. There weren't any irritating 'Cuddy luvs House' signs in her office, people coming to her with questions about him or even suspicious looks directed at her. He did nothing. Suddenly, the fact that he had done nothing worried her.

After the largely uneventful start to the week, there was a request for her to meet with his patient that Thursday. She steeled herself and went to the correct room. House and his team were all standing outside of the room, conferencing on the case. He nodded at her when she approached, and, after a few more instructions, he sent the team to do the various things he wanted done.

"You wanted my approval on something?" she asked professionally when they were the only two remaining.

"More of a second opinion," he answered, leading her over to a tall chair near the nurses' station and giving her the file.

"OK," she said, after taking a seat and reviewing the information. "Where are the test results?"

"For that patient?" he pointed at the file as he looked around, "Who knows."

"Is this even your patient?" she asked as she tried to read the name.

"Which one?"

"This one!" she growled, holding out the paperwork.

"Oh, that file…no. That's why I don't know where the test results are. I can't keep track of all of the patients in your hospital, Cuddy."

"Just do whatever you're going to do to me or get started with whatever you have prepared. I'm busy, I don't feel like standing around and waiting for…whatever is about to happen."

"I was just tired of being surrounded by all of the baby talk from my newbies and wanted a real adult conversation. I hear that happens to people who work with small children."

She chuckled as she began to fiddle with the pen that he had attached to the file. He stood back and watched her for a few minutes without saying anything until she impatiently asked, "What?"

"Nothing," he answered, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket, unfolding it and holding it very close to his face. His eyes moved back and forth from the paper to her before he reached out, took the pen from her hand and wrote something down.

"What's that?"

"A case I'm working on. Had a mini epiphany, an epiphaniette, earlier in the clinic."

He folded the paper and began to shove it back into his pocket when he stared down at her feet and smirked. Whipping the paper back out, he made another notation before putting it away again.

When another doctor tried to get her attention, Cuddy asked House, "You done with your cryptic epiphaniette paper-writing display?"

"Sure."

"You aren't making me nervous and you aren't freaking me out," she said with a look of determination.

"Good. I wasn't trying to." She felt the back of her skirt and shirt, tried to look over her shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked, amused.

"Looking for the sign or wet paint or whatever you just did to me."

"Seems rather amateurish. I'm hurt that you think so little of me."

"What did you just do?"

"I wrote down a few observations on a piece of paper. Stop being so paranoid."

"I know you're planning something," she countered, trying desperately to hide the cracks in her composure, "and I'm still not worried."

"What's there to worry about?" he questioned before he turned away, smiling as he limped down the hall.

She felt her confidence waver. He was definitely up to something. But the rest of Thursday went by without a word, and most of Friday as well. Near the end of the day on Friday, House came into her office with Wilson, Cole, Amber and Kutner. Cuddy was sitting on her sofa, and watched as they each seemed to take assigned places around the room. Wilson's arms were folded and he looked irritated to be involved in whatever was going on around him.

"What do you need?" Cuddy asked, "I have an appointment in five minutes."

"We had some questions about hospital policies," Cole stated like he was reading lines from a teleprompter.

"There are a lot of those. Which ones do you have questions about?"

"Consents, procedures and treatments," Kutner said.

"Which procedures are covered under the standard admissions forms?" Amber asked.

"I'm sure Dr. House is fully aware of which procedures and treatments require additional consents. So is Dr. Wilson. Wilson, you are here because…?"

"I'm observing," he answered before turning to House, "Satisfied?"

"I think so," House confirmed.

Wilson nodded, closing his eyes and gesturing toward the door, "Great. Can I go now?"

Everyone began filing out of the room and Cuddy asked, "Exactly what was that about?"

He pulled the same paper from his jacket that he had written on the day before, a little more wrinkled, made some more notations, returned the paper to his pocket and said, "Diagnostics."

"Fine," she answered, gathering her things, "I don't care."

"Are you sure about that?"

"That I don't care about these games? Yes, I'm very sure."

"OK," he said, tapping his cane on his shoulder while he thought, "When you say you don't care…"

"You have six more days until the fundraiser. You better hurry up and get your fill of Cuddy-mocking in before I show up with a date."

"I nixed the Cuddy mocking."

"If you announce that I was interested in you after it's already obvious that I'm dating someone else, you're going to look jealous and your whole plan will backfire. You'll look like the one with the crush. Which, oddly enough, is exactly what your Mirror patient thought and what started this whole thing."

"My plan will backfire? Am I planning something?"

"When are you not planning something?"

A soft knock on the door caught their attention, and when House saw the tall, distinguished man on the other side of the door, suspicions were raised. "Is that Chris?"

"No," Cuddy said as she stood and took a spot in front of House, "it isn't."

"Then who is it?"

"The new rep from Nylor Pharmaceuticals."

"Does he have a name?"

The knock came more insistently at the door, and House took a long step forward, leaning roughly on his cane so he could get there quickly. He opened the door, switching his cane to his left hand and offering a demanding, phony handshake to the visitor, "Greg House, hospital diagnostician."

"Leonard Light, I'm with Nylor."

Cuddy approached the rep, reaching out her hand, "Lisa Cuddy. Dr. House was just leaving."

"Perhaps he'd like to come with us?" Light asked.

House didn't miss a beat, "Are we going out?"

"We often like to begin relationships with potential clients over dinner. Dr. Cuddy, would you care to go out and discuss the futures of our organizations? Dr. House is more than welcomed to come along."

"I'd love to!" House said, staring into her.

"That's very nice of you, but I can't tonight," Cuddy explained, "I was under the impression that this was a short meeting."

Light shrugged, "It is, dinner is informal."

"We could schedule dinner for next week. How's Tuesday evening?"

"That's perfect," Light agreed, "Dr. House, will you be joining us?"

"Definitely," House replied immediately. "Cuddy, what do we have going on tonight?"

"We…don't have anything tonight," she answered, "but I have plans."

"I'll leave these with you," Light said, handing her some materials about his products with some confusion obvious in his expression, "look them over and we'll talk on Tuesday."

Cuddy watched while Light walked out the door. House stepped closer, "So, what's on for this evening?"

Looking up at him out of the corner of her eye, she smiled, "I don't have a date tonight, but it doesn't really matter, does it? You aren't interested. You made that clear. So I have no idea why you're even asking about it."

"You also said you had feelings…in the past tense…as in you no longer have them. You said you felt freed after addressing the issue."

"What does one thing have to do with the other?"

House leaned closer, catching her eyes fully and said, "I'm thinking they're both lies."

"You don't want me…you just want me to want you." She smiled, tilted her head, "You're…an attractive man, funny and kinda charming at times, smart too. Go out tonight. Buy a drink for a beautiful woman and see what happens."

"OK. Where will you be again?"

House stood in front of Cuddy's front door. He could hear the party inside, and he had seen a few people through the window when he was crossing the street. Bottle clenched in one hand, he tucked his cane under his arm and felt the now well-worn piece of paper in his back pocket to make sure it was there. Just before he was able to knock on the door, it flung open. A blond-haired woman with a look of extreme disapproval on her face took one quick look at him and said, "Who are you?"

"Greg House. I'm here for Cuddy."

"Cuddy? Do you mean Lisa?"

"That's the one."

"You're a doctor?"

"It's not work related," he answered as he thought about walking around the irritable woman and bypassing an official invitation.

"Then why are you here?" she asked, her suspicions elevated as she started evaluating him more carefully.

He held up the bottle of wine and said, "I wanted to buy her a drink."