Hello everyone,

It's been forever, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know.

The chapter has been revised, thanks Lisa!

House put a leg onto the floor. His feet were bare and the ground was cold under his flesh, causing a shiver to run through his back. He put the other foot out of the blanket and tested the pain that putting it on the floor would cause. Sharp, but not unbearable.

He then scanned the room with his dead gaze, looking around for his cane. He smiled as his eyes fell on it, leaning against the bedside table on which several pills were aligned, beside a glass full of water. Cuddy.

He took the wooden cane and helped himself to get up, slowly measuring his footsteps as he didn't trust his leg. He'd slept for over twelve hours and the pain was starting to emerge with him waking up. That sole thought made him ache, and he swallowed two painkillers that Cuddy had apparently left for him. Her telling him once that his pain was mainly caused by psychological issues came back to his memory, and deep down, he knew that she wasn't exactly wrong about that.

House shook his head, regretting it immediately as his head protested, sending pain signals to his whole body. Taking carefully one last step, he put his left hand on the doorframe and tried to find his balance, concentrating on his labored respiration. He thought that he should take better care of himself, since he had a skull fracture, before doing the exact opposite and limping out of the bedroom.

The hallway was dark, but a light came from the kitchen and his living room. He didn't stop at the strange feeling having someone to share his apartment with gave him and made his way to the room, his limping more accentuated than it'd been in months. A small traveling bag had been conscientiously put onto the ground, near the front door. He guessed it could only be Cuddy's and wondered if she was staying for long, not knowing if he'd prefer her to.

But for the moment, the woman in his kitchen caught his attention more than all the questions running into his overthinking mind. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her laptop in front of her, a spreadsheet opened – probably some expense reports. He watched her put her glasses down and bring the cup of what seemed to be tea to her mouth.

A quick look at the clock informed him it was already 8 p.m. Believing she had come back at 4 like she'd told him, Cuddy had been at his place for at least four hours and that reassured him quite a bit, though he wanted to deny it. She was there, working quietly while he was sleeping.

"You shouldn't be awake," her voice came, getting him out of his thoughts.

"I am not sleepin' beauty," House groaned, walking across the room till he reached a chair.

"For six years, and every morning, you were," Cuddy teased him, knowing it'd piss him off a little bit more and it amused her to see him complaining. She wondered if he was in that mood every time he woke up and preferred not to think about it.

"I wasn't sleeping."

She raised her head and saw him yawning, making himself at ease in the chair before she looked in front of herself again. She imagined all those morning where he couldn't get out of bed because his leg hurt, imagined him struggling not to yell out of pain while he burnt in hell in silence and wished she could do something to help that.

"You hungry?" she asked, before her guilt overwhelmed her again.

"Yeah," House approved, more to please her than because he was really hungry. He knew she needed to make herself useful, to do something for him, he knew her too well. Her overcaring side wasn't unknown to him and he guessed that his proclivity for independence wasn't for her, either. But sometimes it was okay to let go a bit, though he didn't know why he was docile and uncomplaining as he was supposed to be. It surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise her.

Cuddy nodded, closing her laptop and busying herself making him food. He watched her, analyzing her as she put a bowl of soup in the microwave. He frowned, discovering what his feast was and sighed, making Cuddy shrug and lean against the table's edge, her arms crossed over her chest.

"You saw him?" he said, seconds later. It wasn't really a question, he knew that if she hadn't seen Wilson, she'd have at least called him. What he didn't know, though, was why he was asking her about him, and more importantly, why he cared. But he did.

"Yes," she replied honestly, looking at the microwave's timer. And then at him. He didn't say a word, waiting for her to say more. But she didn't.

"How is he?"

"You know how he is," she said, sitting next to him on a chair. "Talk to him," she advised him.

He didn't turn to see her features, he knew the bitter smile that was on her face every time she wanted to be encouraging. "He doesn't want to see me."

"You don't know that."

"I know him."

"Well, obviously not that well."

This time, he turned toward her and questioned her with his eyes. Cuddy sighed.

"I asked him if he wanted you at the funeral." She paused, waiting for his reaction – excessive, knowing him. Much to her surprise, he didn't make any comment; he just watched her, waiting for her to continue. She could read apprehension in his eyes. "He said that he didn't know," she continued. "I think he wants you to go."

"I won't," he eventually said, getting up and limping to the couch.

They didn't speak about it for the rest of the day; Cuddy had focused on some paperwork she'd brought with her from the hospital and House had watched TV most of the evening, before he'd fallen asleep on the couch. He'd expected a categorical refusal from Wilson, but now that he had talked to Cuddy, he didn't know what to think anymore.

They'd eaten dinner in silence too; exchanging a word or two, nothing serious. Cuddy had told him briefly about the evolution of his patient's state and House had given her a summary of his own, to her demand. After which he'd gotten up, yawned lazily and managed to make his way to the bedroom, leaving Cuddy to her files.

He couldn't sleep. His overthinking mind working more thoroughly when he was alone. His main thoughts, much to his surprise, were directed to the woman asleep in the next room. He realized, with all what happened to Wilson - to him, too - that he hadn't to always watch his steps concerning everything, especially when it was a matter of heart. He took her for granted. Wilson had taken Amber for granted too, and here he was.

She was almost asleep when he sat on the long-chair, startling her in the process. It was dark, and late. Cuddy lazily opened her eyes

"House –

"I don't want to feel lonely," he cut her off, referring to their night two days before. His voice was only a murmur when he spoke. They could barely see each other's features but guessed them easily. "I'll take the risk, too."

Hearing those words, she could swear she'd pass out at that moment and die a happy woman. She closed her eyes and, despite the rational part in her that told her not to, grabbed his collar and brought him down to her, meeting his lips halfway as an answer.

Their kiss was slow and passionate. Unlike the one at the hospital, it didn't feel awkward – like she'd stated. It was just natural and tender.

"Dream on," she teasingly whispered as his hands began to travel all over her body and tried to pull off her t-shirt. "That wouldn't be wise when your skull is fractured," she added when he pouted.

He tsk'd, kissing her lightly one last time before he returned to bed.