Morning came far too early.


Lisa rose and made coffee using the little coffee pot supplied provided by the motel, then
brought two cups back to bed. She set one for House on his nightstand, then climbed
back into bed on her side and wrapped herself in the sheets, carefully sipping the hot
bitter brew. After a while, the scent roused him, and he emerged from under the sheets,
growling softly.


“You’re still here. I thought you’d be halfway through your morning agenda at your desk
by now,” he groused, struggling to sit up and reaching for the coffee. Lisa shook her head
and sipped her cup, trying not to grin at his spiky hair and generally rumpled look.


“Nope. Didn’t feel like rushing anywhere. The hospital will still be there by this afternoon.”


House cast a suspicious glance in her direction. “Sometime in the night you got replaced
with a pod person.”


Cuddy turned a dry glare to him; a look which softened after a moment. She cradled the
cup in her elegant hands, and shifted her gaze into the brown depths of it. House grunted
and reached for his own cup, gulping a mouthful and giving a sigh.


“Nothing in the history of civilization is as awkward as the morning after a one-night
stand,” House observed grimly. Cuddy nodded.


“Not exactly helped by the fact we work together. Or rather, you work for me.”


“Last night I worked under you—“ he gave a gusty, appreciative sigh, and even Cuddy
smirked a bit. She hid it by sipping more coffee since the atmosphere was a tiny bit
warmer now. House leaned back and looked at her, his gaze both mild and direct; she
had the feeling he was merely waiting for her to say something.


Cuddy took a deep breath. “When are you leaving for Arlington?”


House shrugged. “As soon as Cameron books me a flight I suppose.”


“Greg—I probably won’t get pregnant from last night,” she said slowly. “Realistically, we
both know the odds.”


“Ah, but there are a few factors tipping things in our favor,” he countered quietly. “Fertility
drugs. Timing. Orgasms.” Seeing her glare he clarified, “Muscular contractions within the
uterus help conduct the sperm on its merry trip along the old Fallopian tubes. I imagine
my evil minions are like a fertility SWAT team, ready to take down any eggs on the way.”


“Tell me, does the massive gravity of your ego ever suck in all the air from a room?”
Cuddy shot back, but it was difficult to hold back an exasperated grin. House looked up
at the ceiling, and then at her, suggestively.


“Up for upping the odds?”


She looked over at him then, and assessed his offer thoughtfully. It was interesting to see
the quick flicker of emotions in House’s eyes, even though the rest of his expression
stayed politely neutral.


Lisa deliberately set her coffee on the nightstand, and rolled to face him, keeping her
gaze on his lightly furred chest. “Yes. You’re cheaper than clinical insemination.”


“More fun too, although you’ll still have to lie there and stare at the ceiling . . .” he
countered, setting his own coffee down.


She snorted.


This time Lisa straddled him, and her slow sweet rhythm was an invitation to a duet.
House cupped her sleek hipbones in his palms, guiding her gently sometimes, following
her lead at others. She moved over him slowly, savoring the pleasure, and loved the way
he watched her long curls sway around her pale shoulders.


There was something vulnerable and amazingly strong too, about House’s exposed chest;
Lisa had always had a weakness for his lean masculine frame. He had just enough
definition and the hair there was the softest she’d ever nuzzled. She braced her hands on
his pecs, feeling them flex a bit with every quickening stroke of his hips up to hers.


“Good . . . “ House told her, his voice slow and deep. Lisa made a little breathless sound
of agreement, and quickly, suddenly clenched, tightening all inner muscles as she
bounced down against him. House grunted, and his big hands slid from her hips to the
rounded muscles of her ass, squeezing.


Lisa gasped herself, and reached one hand down between her thighs, fingers dancing
lightly there. House’s gaze flickered down, watching her, and his expression glazed over a
bit. He thrust hard, lifting her off of the bed, and the heated pulses of him deep within her, combined with her own soft touches were more than enough to send her orgasm
rocketing through her.


She slumped against his chest, feeling the hard pounding of his heart against her breasts.
They lay there, entwined for a long timeless time; not moving, not talking, simply holding
each other as the endorphins and emotions surged and subsided within them.


Finally, Lisa lifted her face and looked at House. He lay with his eyes closed, lashes long
and dark in the midmorning light filtering through the closed curtains. She moved to kiss
his cheek, but he turned his face and caught it on his mouth, pressing gratefully against
her own.


“Thank you,” he whispered humbly, opening his eyes. Lisa nodded, a wave of tenderness washing over her at his tone.


“You know—“ she began, and he sighed, wrapping his long arms around her slender back.


“Yes I get it. This can’t happen again; we both have too much at stake, et cetera, et
cetera, et cetera. I DO watch soap operas you know.”


“Glad to know you’re taking it so well,” Lisa snapped back, but mildly. Better that he was
in a glib mood than a pissy one; that would make this parting a lot easier. As if to read
her thoughts, House shifted slightly, and pulled her forehead to his lips, which were warm.


“You just want to go home and watch Pride and Prejudice again, maybe take a nap, and I
don’t blame you. The Greg House Experience is a lot for any woman to handle,” he
intoned solemnly. Lisa burst into undignified giggles, smothering them against his chest
for a moment, and drinking in the sweet feel of his palms stroking up and down her bare
spine.


“Oh yes, I’m probably in no shape to operate heavy machinery either—“


“You already have, several times,” he assured her with a smug grin that slowly faded
away. “But I get the message. For what it’s worth . . . I hope you conceive. Not because I
got to be there when it happened—although that WILL be going in my blog—but because
you . . . deserve the chance.” House finished with a sigh.


Lisa sat up, and ran a hopeless hand through her hair. She smiled down at the man still
lying on the bed and let her other hand stroke his cheek. “Thank you.”


He stared up at her from the pillows, and smiled; the soft, vulnerable, very rare genuine
article. “You’re welcome.”



The shit hit the fan, coming with a swiftness that nobody foresaw. Detective Tritter began
his quiet unrelenting vendetta against House, the personal hunt crossing over with the professional one. Lisa tried to stop the damage but it moved faster than she’d realized.
Tritter didn’t have an entire hospital to run; and by the time she’d gotten the lawyers
going, too many of the detective’s questionable moves had been set into motion.


House floundered; something she’d never seen him do before. His stubborn pride made
her long to lash into him, but she held on to the hope that he’d do the right thing before it
was too late.


Then it was too late.


House’s words, scathing, so deeply cutting, stung more than anything she’d ever heard
him fling at her before, and she took her hurt back to the safe den of her office hoping to
let the venom leech away.


Wilson came in and tried to comfort her.


Lisa wasn’t sure why she lied to him. There’d been no miscarriage—there hadn’t been
anything yet, although she knew she was due to start her period soon. But she was so
tired, and so worried about Wilson and the hospital and House himself.


But those words of his, so clearly the antithesis of his earlier declaration still worked like
little flecks of barbed wire into her heart. Forgiveness would be a long time coming, Lisa
decided. There were a lot of comments and accusations and scenes she could gloss over
with House, but this . . .


In the end he’d taken what ultimately was the only choice left to him: the low and humble
road of rehab. It was odd to walk into a hospital and feel the emptiness; to know one
important cog was gone in the clockwork of the place. It wasn’t until House’s rehab was
nearly done that she realized something else was missing.


She made her way back to her office, trying to walk slowly.


With quiet, controlled urgency she dug out her personal calendar and looked over the
dates, skimming past meaningless appointments and notations, looking for her personal shorthand and not seeing it. She flipped to the previous month, and saw the date, then
flipped back.


Lisa’s grip on the little notebook tightened. No. Not possible. The math would mean
nearly six weeks . . .


Hope against hope, pragmatism stomping through her wildly scattered thoughts. She took
a deep breath and set the notebook down, letting her fingers brush against the desk.
They traveled from the cool surface towards her abdomen, and finally giving in, Lisa
pressed her palm against the linen of her skirt.


“If . . . “ she began in a low whisper, feeling foolish and optimistic all in one rush. “ . . . if
you’re really in there, then thank you.”


Immediately she pulled her hand away and drew another deep breath, then reached for
the phone, fighting hard not to smile.


She had a few calls to make.