Well, friends and Huddies... I didn't know if the Muse would ever cooperate enough for me to continue this story after a 4-year hiatus, but recently she has been directing some of my writing energy back in "Baby Daddy" 's direction. It certainly didn't hurt that some of you who have been reading "Battle of the Band-AIDS" encouraged me to pick this up again... and to those of you that did, thank you so much for your encouragement! That said, I have mixed feelings about posting this chapter, because over half of it was written 4 years ago, another good chunk a few months ago before I started "Band-AIDS," and I finally figured out how to tie up the chapter just within the last few days. It's difficult to bring a cohesive element to something you have written over such a large span of time, but I'm hoping it will work. And same as with my other stories, I promise no timeline for updating. More than likely, I'll probably work on this side by side with "Band-AIDS" for the next while, returning to one for breaks when I find myself at a roadblock for the other.

Also, another big thanks to everyone who was so kind when I took my hiatus when my daughter was born... she is now a healthy, happy rambunctious 13 year old living in a 3 and a 1/2 year old's body. She is her mother's daughter, complete with eye rolling, opinions about everything (including who is and is not allowed to sing along with certain songs in the car based on their gender and whether or not it's "her" song, meaning only SHE is allowed to sing) and a completely insane memory. She likes to ask me "Mama, why do you watch 'House' all the time?" And I respond with, "Why do you watch Wallykazam all the time?" Heh. We're weird.

I put a short memory refresher below, and keep in mind that chapter 22 was just my little maternity note, so 21 was the last *real* chapter.

As always I would ADORE some reviews and feedback for my foray back into this 'verse... and I'm still undecided about whether or not the next part should include specifics of the smutty variety. I make no promises, but I will take your thoughts on the matter under consideration in making my decision ;-)

*Last time, in chapter 21 of "Baby Daddy," we found House and Cuddy dealing with the aftermath of the hostage-taking gunman in a flashback sequence taking place during "Last Resort." The actual timeline of the story would have left off in chapter 17 during the events of "House Divided."*

"If he hadn't done what he did, he'd be dead," House said simply, as if Jason's actions had been the most logical conclusion in the world. "Good thing you enabled my every medical move," he added pointedly to Cuddy. They stared at each other in silence for a brief moment, sizing one another up for what was easily slipping into one of their epic dances around each other.

"You think I handled this differently because you were in here?" Cuddy said annoyed, her tone almost indistinguishable between one of inquiry or statement.

"I don't know… let's try it again without me," House replied with easy sarcasm.

Cuddy sighed heavily, shaking her head. "This is why you and I can't be a… 'thing.' " she retaliated, gesturing as she spoke to further illustrate her point. Deep down, it pained her to say that to House, both because she almost felt it to be insensitive and because it seemed to be a sad truth in their screwed up plane of existence with one another.

"If you're suggesting that you screwed up because of a non-relationship with me, I don't know how I can help you," House deadpanned. "Cause the only change you can make from a non-relationship is…" he purposely trailed off, waiting for Cuddy to make her own assumptions as to his meaning. It was yet another of House's deflecting strategies; verbally forcing others to say what he could not.

"You… want a relationship?" Cuddy asked cautiously, hoping that her face didn't betray the extra degree of nervousness that couldn't be derived from the slight crack in her voice.

"Do you?" House threw the spoken curveball of deflection right back in Cuddy's bemused direction.

"Nice try, House," Cuddy answered quickly, throwing her walls back up just as easily as they had crumbled throughout the course of her emotionally trying day. "Just keep calling the 'Make a Wish' foundation. Someone will pick up the phone eventually," she added for good measure. "Now, I have a lot of things to check on around here… you know your way out," Cuddy finished, briskly walking past House and out of her office.

Maybe House's feelings should have been hurt just a little, but they weren't. He knew Cuddy; he could read her voice, her body language, and all of her facial expressions like a book. He knew that she had thrown the deflection triple play right back at him from his double. A comeback from Cuddy uttered as quickly as that one was always her emotional force field putting itself into place, blocking all unwanted invaders from penetration. That day had gotten to her; he had gotten to her. "Cool," he mused out-loud to himself, smirking. With a purposeful air to his swaggering gate, House left Cuddy's office. He had found a chink in her well-guarded armor, and in the space left by that chink was plenty of room for the plan forming in the diagnostician's brilliant brain to be set into motion.

H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C-

Chapter 23

** Flashback Continued **

Later that night, Cuddy sat on the couch in her living room, partaking in her usual nightly ritual of a cup of tea and reading her book. A lot of people wouldn't have pegged Lisa Cuddy for much of a leisure reader, with all of the dry, technical, medical, and legal reading that her job required of her on a daily basis. But Cuddy had been entranced by the escape of books long before she had entered the medical profession.

As a young girl, Cuddy had never been much of a social butterfly. Not that she was exactly a loner, like House had been for much of his childhood and adolescence; there was just a part of Cuddy that enjoyed retreating into the solitude of her room after a long day and losing herself in the midst of someone else's life. This need for a distraction from real life followed Cuddy into college and indeed all the way into adulthood. And when she encountered particularly difficult situations in her life, Cuddy often reached for old favorites. The many book shelves in her house were filled with an array of medical texts and journals, classics, detective stories, mystery novels, and yes, even the occasional romance novel, although Cuddy did her best to strategically hide those so that they would not be visible to the casual observer.

On this particular evening, Cuddy was once again delving into her long-loved copy of "Gone With the Wind." She'd read it for the first time when she was about fourteen, and she had read it so many times since then that she'd lost track. She had picked up Margaret Mitchell's classic yet again a few weeks before, almost immediately after her adoption of Joy had fallen through. She had turned to the dog-eared hard-cover like one would an old friend, taking comfort in its familiar pages and characters.

Cuddy couldn't help but wonder if subconsciously her choice of reading material did not only have to do with self-comfort but also to do with her escalating "relationship"- if one could even call it that- with House. Maybe, deep down, Cuddy was looking to her old friend "Gone With the Wind" for advice. She had drawn the comparison of herself and House's relationship with that of star-crossed lovers Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara all the way back in college, not long after he had up and left Michigan after being expelled. And now, it seemed that comparison showed renewed relevance.

House said rude things to Cuddy. Cuddy said rude things back. House escalated his remarks until they were very personal, either sexually or otherwise, and any other woman would have screamed "sexual harassment" and taken some kind of legal action, but not Cuddy; she just handed it right back to him. House made the comments he did because he knew that she had balls and could take it. Would take it. Enjoy it, even. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone. Someone in in her position wasn't supposed to enjoy that kind of verbal sparring from someone in House's position. Yes, Cuddy thought, reluctantly. In that respect, we are exactly like Rhett and Scarlett.

And although Rhett and Scarlett sparred, argued, pushed, pulled, fought and made up, through all of those things, they seemed to stick together. Cuddy had noticed in her multiple readings how shallow Scarlett often was in noticing when Rhett, in his own way, made thoughtful gestures. It was he who got Scarlett to dance at the ball when she was still wearing the mourning clothes for her dead husband. Yes, the talk and gossip had almost reached scandal proportions in Atlanta that very night, but Scarlett had the time of her life. Rhett had saved her from the desolate trappings of mourning a husband she hadn't loved and helped bring her back to life.

And the night of the great burning of Atlanta by the Union Army, when Melanie was nearing death giving birth to her child, and Prissy's hysterics did little but add to Scarlett's stress, Rhett had appeared, like a knight in slightly jaded armor, to rescue them and help them on their way to Tara. But, true to form for Rhett, he left them to fend for themselves partway through the journey, unable to squelch his own selfish needs to go and fight for the dying cause of the South. And there was Scarlett, in the same emotional desolation she had felt when in her forced state of mourning. Alone again.

Alone. House had left Cuddy the same way after he had come knocking on her door the night that the promise of Joy had ceased to exist. In his own way, he had in effect apologized for saying that Cuddy would suck as a mother, if not directly, but by saying that she indeed would have made a great mother. Cuddy had yelled at him, asking him why he needed to negate everything. And with all the honesty in the world, for once, completely devoid of sarcasm, House had said, "I don't know."

Those three words were enough to obliterate both of their walls, if only momentarily. House allowed himself to be vulnerable, and Cuddy found herself so intoxicated by this rarely seen quality in him that she willingly threw herself into his arms. It lasted maybe a minute at most, but their passionate embrace said everything they'd both been dying to say to each other for weeks, months, years, maybe. But as quickly as the walls had come tumbling down, House put his back up, pulling away, and telling Cuddy a quick goodnight. She had echoed his words, the new set of threatening tears plain in her shaky voice.

At work the next day, both of them tried to play it off like it was nothing. But as time passed, it became clear, at least to Cuddy, that it hadn't been nothing. Coming back to the events of the day she'd just experienced, Cuddy knew that her feelings for House ran deeper than she had ever wanted to admit. The whole time he was trapped in her office with that madman, it was almost impossible for her to think objectively about doing her job as an administrator, to which the Lieutenant had consistently alluded. She'd been terrified she would lose him. And this time, permanently.

As the true intensity of the situation began to wash over Cuddy, a fresh set of tears overtook her. She put down her book and for a moment held the steaming mug of tea to her pounding forehead, willing the tension to subside. But it didn't, and the sobs just further racked her body until she could no longer hold the tea without spilling it all over herself. So finally, head in hands, Cuddy just succumbed to the raw emotion that had been dying to poor out of her all day. She didn't want to lose House. That was the broken record that seemed to be playing non-stop in her psyche. And almost like having the needle rudely ripped right off her broken record, Cuddy heard the familiar jarring taps at her front door that certainly didn't belong to anyone's hand.

H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C- H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C H-C-H-C-H-C-H-C-

When House arrived at Cuddy's, it took him awhile to work up the courage to go knock on her door. He had opted for his car rather than his motorcycle on that chilly November evening. Not so much because of the temperature, but because its none-too-subtle motor would be an obvious herald of his impending arrival. So, there sat House in his car, doing something he very rarely did; he was trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say to Cuddy. But unfortunately, he really had no idea. If he was going to be brutally honest and go with his true feelings, he would have said something along the lines of, "We both could have died today, you have amazingly hot body, fighting with you is an incredible turn-on, but I think I would enjoy tearing off all of your clothes and having sex with you even more. And oh, by the way, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, too."

But no, House thought, after further reasoning. He could guess what those choice words would get him; a door slammed in his face, a bruised ego, and even more sexual frustration than he was already dealing with. No, subtly was probably his best battle plan all around. After deciding that he was just going to wing it, House slowly got out of his car and made his way up Cuddy's front walk. He could see her through the window, sitting on her couch, much as he had been able to the night he had almost had the nerve to ask Cuddy out on a date. But alas, his nerve had not held that night. House was determined to use his cojones on this particular evening, however. This night was going to end differently for both of them.

With all of those thoughts swirling in his head, House finally found the courage to knock on Cuddy's door, using his cane, of course. Using one's hand to knock was, after all, much too commonplace for Gregory House. Although House could no longer see into Cuddy's living room from his position in front of the door, he could hear her weary footsteps approaching. And before he knew it, she had opened the door and was standing before him. It was obvious that Cuddy had been crying; her eyes and face were red, and there was little left of the mask of make-up that had graced her countenance earlier in the day. Even in yoga pants and an old Michigan sweatshirt, with a haphazard ponytail keeping most of her brown hair out of her face, she was still unintentionally the epitome of beauty in House's eyes.

Upon opening the door and seeing her late-night visitor, although she was already quite sure of his identity simply from the awkward knock, Cuddy rolled her eyes lethargically and closed them in an attempt to collect herself before speaking.

"House, what are you doing here?" she asked through the half-open door, annoyance permeating her tone.

"You never answered my question," he stated obviously, with an eyebrow quirked with intrigue.

"What question?" Cuddy responded just a little too quickly, making it apparent that she indeed knew exactly which question to which he was referring.

"You know, the 'relationship' question!" House answered in a dramatic tone, waggling his eyebrows to illustrate his point.

"For your information, I… not you… was the first one to bridge that topic, and you were the one that avoided my question. Which tells me just how seriously you took my question, anyway," Cuddy stated defiantly. "I certainly don't owe you any kind of an answer, since you didn't give me one in the first place. Now it's late, we've both had a very long and stressful day, so why don't you just run along home and let me finish out the rest of my evening in peace."

House could see that he wasn't gaining any ground with her, so he figured he was going to have to sacrifice at least a little bit of his comfort zone in order to achieve his goal.

"Give me ten minutes, Cuddy. That's all I want. We talk, ten minutes… inside if you don't mind, since it's kind of freezing out here… and if you still want me to leave, I'll leave. No questions asked, no complaining, no trying to get out of clinic duty," House stated soberly.

As he spoke, Cuddy saw a rather foreign expression cross the countenance of Greg House; one of sincerity. She had seen it on a few previous occasions, and most recently, on a night eerily similar to this one about a month earlier when he had come knocking on her door the night that Joy had been born. There was no jest in his tone, no sarcasm; it was a genuine request. Those factors combined with the always disarming sight of him in his leather jacket and mussed hair in the hazy evening shadows of her doorstep, subconsciously finding ways to insert himself into her life, gave her cautious cause to allow him into her space once again.

"Fine," Cuddy conceded curtly, opening the door the rest of the way and backing up to concede his entrance. "But I'm watching the clock. 9:35. So, I reserve the right to kick you back out into the cold at 9:45."

"Agreed," House nodded as he limped into the entryway.

"Ok, so talk," Cuddy said challengingly, crossing her arms with a wide, smug smile on her face.

"Like I said… you never answered my question," House said with an omnipotent smirk.

"Uggghh!" Cuddy groaned, pacing around in a small circle before turning to face him again. "If this conversation is just going to keep going in one big circle, then I might as well just skip the clock ahead nine minutes right now. You've already lost a minute repeating yourself, so I'll waste another one repeating myself. I. asked. you. first."

"Yeah, you did ask first. But in asking, you were also answering the question yourself. You would never have asked me the question in the first place if you hadn't already been kicking around the idea yourself," House countered.

Well, he has you there, Cuddy mused to herself. Damn him.

"Fine," she conceded, rolling her eyes accordingly. "Let's assume for argument's sake that I was interested. Was… as in past tense. Maybe in that moment, after all of the adrenaline and the panic of what we went through today, I was emotionally weak. You were almost shot… numerous times… I could have been shot. People we know and some that we didn't almost died. At the prospect of you being totally out of my life… maybe just for a moment, I wanted to pull you closer before I could have lost you forever."

While House's face had turned thoughtful during Cuddy's explanation, his more typical smirk reemerged after he registered the whole of her admission.

"So you admit it. You want me," he uttered lowly, stepping more into his boss's personal space until his face hovered only a matter of inches above hers. She paused before commenting, his nearness unnerving her more than she wanted to admit as it always did. Cuddy took a step back before she did something that would surely come to no good, besides possibly in the physical sense.

"Want-ed. Now that I've had a chance to think about it, I know in my head that you and I would have disaster written all over us before we could even really become an 'us.' I mean, look at the two of us, standing here like a couple of teenagers who can't even hold a mature conversation. Where does that really leave us?"

"You keep saying that 'we' couldn't work, but do you realize that pesky plural object pronoun 'us' repeated in your little diatribe about three or four times?" He limped forward a few more steps, using proximity to his advantage once again. "Oh, you want, Cuddy. Dialated pupils, increased respiration, flushed cheeks…" he paused to grab her wrist for a tactile marker, "… elevated pulse. You are currently presenting with all of the classic physical signs of arousal. You want… me… present tense… badly."

The administrator glared at her most problematic employee, snapping her wrist out of his grasp as if the touch burned her. Cuddy dared him to push her any further, standing with her palms flat to the back of her hips, her face twisted into an icy resolve. House was perhaps one of the most proficient medical minds in the world. He was, though, equally adept in the art of pushing others' buttons, particularly if said buttons belonged to the infuriating and attractive brunette standing before him. Not giving the object of his desire any more chance to protest, he moved forward until there was no space between them. House slid his left hand into the awkward space created by Cuddy's defiant stance so that it rested on her perfectly shaped rear.

Reaching further to fully cup Cuddy's derrière, she inhaled sharply at the contact and he bent to whisper in her ear, "You want this…" he repeated, giving a squeeze with his hand that was neither gentle nor rough, but clearly possessive. "…and this," added House while he bent his head down to graze his lips along the place where her neck met her collar bone. Before her brain had chance to catch up with her hormones, Cuddy found herself sliding her hands slowly up House's back. When he was this close, no matter if a few cells in her body still held any objection, she could do nothing but relish in the scent of his leather jacket mingled with the smell that was him and pull him closer.

Clearly, House was just as lost in her essence in the moment as Cuddy was in his, and kissing his way up her neck and kneading her backside only served to further tumble the omnipresent emotional walls between them that the days's events had already compromised. He stopped his progression for a moment, pulling back enough to look into her now vulnerable eyes.

"I want you," he declared in sudden honesty, and Cuddy felt sure that her eyes would pop right out of her head at the diagnostician's uncharacteristic frankness in terms of his own feelings. House allowed his cane to fall to the floor, the jarring thud not seeming to register with either preoccupied party. Bringing his now freed right hand up to the brunette's still tear-streaked face, he lost any remaining chance to preserve his consistent façade of emotional indifference in order to portray a falsely thick skin. "I thought that guy was going to kill me… and that I would never have the chance to…"

But Cuddy stopped him short with a kiss so fierce that House had to take a step back to counter the force, and at that point any plan that he had previously formulated to force his boss's hand into a full confessional disclosure of her feelings for him was entirely forgotten. There was no air between their passionate encounter, all barriers, both literal and figurative, obliterated in the tactile electricity in the air surrounding them. Mouths devoured, lips, tongues, and teeth each taking their turns while limbs entwined, conveying everything with those gropes and kisses where words had always proved so elusive.

When Cuddy started gradually walking backwards toward the hallway, pulling House along with her, there was no longer any question of the heavy implications between the two of them both asked and answered in those small steps. He had her shirt off before they even reached the door to her bedroom, and she was simultaneously making quick work of his belt buckle. When they finally made it through the threshold, both of the doctors' brains had reverted to such a state of baser instincts that they would have been lucky to remember their own names in that moment.

It was no surprise, therefore, that Cuddy completely neglected the round case of pink pills on her night stand, as well as the box of condoms within it that she kept around "just in case." House, similarly, didn't reach for the ones that were always in his wallet for the same reason before his pants landed somewhere near the foot of the bed. As they would both be reminded many months later, a single person's momentary lapse in judgment can alter the course of their life forever. That fateful night in November, however, the joint nature of boss and employee's lapse would alter the course of no less than three lives in the span of less than a year.

Mostly Unrelated Huddy-Nerd A/N: I saw "Who's Your Daddy?" again recently now that House is on Netflix, (squee! even though I own 1-7, I'm lazy and it saves me looking through my seasons for the eps I want to watch :-P) and GOOD GOD did Cuddy want House's baby juice, even back then! I had really forgotten the intensity of the dynamics between them in that episode. Holy wow. How exactly did they make it all the way to 7 without gettin' down? Yeah. I have no idea... I think Show kind of jumped the shark stretching it out as long as they did.