The Hook-Up

House was sitting at his favorite bar stool in his favorite bar drinking his favorite brand of scotch when a rather cheery group of revelers came through the front door and sat down at a nearby table.

"Crap," House said, hunching a bit, as though changing his posture was somehow going to disguise him.

The bartender, Dex, chuckled.

"I take it you know those folks?" he asked.

"I work with them," House said.

Dex looked again.

"You work with those gorgeous women? Lucky bastard."

House shrugged, but didn't reply.

"So why not go join them?" Dex said.

"I just told you I work with them. Why would I want to socialize with them, too?"

"Happy hour with coworkers is a pretty time-honored tradition," Dex chuckled. "Or so I've heard."

"Look," House said. "See that guy?"—he gestured to Foreman. "He's just going to want to talk shop all night until my eyes glaze over. See the prom queen there?"—Cameron. "She's going to laugh too hard at all my jokes and try to touch me every chance she can get."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Dex countered.

"Trust me, it gets old. And see surfer brah?"—Chase. "He's just going to sulk because the prom queen is paying more attention to me than to him."

"What about hot-for-teacher there?" Dex said, pointing at Cuddy.

House grinned, slightly lasciviously.

"That ravishing creature is my boss."

"Ahhh," Dex said, getting it. "Probably wise to stay away."

"Exactly."

He sighed, took another swig of his drink.

"Incoming, 3 o clock," Dex said.

It was Cameron, of course, who had spotted him and was sauntering over.

"Hey," Dex said, flirtatiously.

"Hi," she said back, half-heartedly. Then she turned to House: "You know that we can see you, right?"

"I was just about to send over a round a drinks," he said.

"Liar," she said, touching his arm. (House raised his eyebrows at Dex in a "told ya so" sort of way.)

"What are you all doing here anyway?" House said. "Is this going to be a regular thing? If so, I'm going to have to switch bars."

She giggled. (Another wagged eyebrow.)

"We're celebrating that Foreman got an article published in the Journal of American Neurology," she said.

"Pfft, like that's some sort of big deal," House scoffed.

"You should join us," Cameron said.

"I would but. . .drinking with other people is a sign of alcoholism."

"You're really going to sit here 20 feet from us and not come over?" she said.

"That was the plan," House said.

"Scrooge," she said.

"I've been called a lot worse," he said.

She shook her head, in fond exasperation, and headed back to the table.

"So you're telling me you could hit that but you choose not to?" Dex said, watching her walk away.

"Not my type," House shrugged.

He turned back to his drink, then glanced at them a few times, mostly when Cuddy's throaty laugh could be heard from across the bar. Who could possibly be making her laugh? Foreman?

Mercifully, the group finally got up and left.

"Goodbye House!" they all yelled with excessive cheer, a planned joke.

He gave an ironic wave back at them, then ordered another scotch.

A few minutes later, Lisa Cuddy came back to the bar. House noticed her right away because she was moving quickly, nervously. Also, her hair and clothing were slightly wet.

She went back to the table where they had been sitting, looked under it, then looked under her chair. She asked a question of a couple at another table and they both shook their heads, apologetically.

Finally, she headed to the bar.

"Has anyone turned in a set of keys? she asked Dex.

"Sorry, no," he said.

"Shit," she muttered.

"You know, key parties went out in the '70s, Cuddy," House said, smirking at her.

"This isn't funny, House."

"They're probably just at the bottom of your impractically enormous purse," he said.

"I already looked," she said.

"Your pockets?"

"Does it look like I have room for a ring of keys in this outfit?"

He looked her up and down.

"Thankfully, no," he said. Then he added: "Things have been known to get lost in your cleavage. I can excavate, if you'd like."

She glared at him. Sensing she was in no mood for his jokes, he said, "They couldn't have gotten that far. Did you look on the sidewalk?"

"Yes," she said. "It doesn't help that it just started pouring out. My keys probably floated away."

"Wow. You're screwed," he said.

"Apparently," she said. "Luckily, I have an extra set of house keys. . ."

"Under that potted plant next to your door," House said.

"You're terrifying."

"I've been called a lot worse—quite recently, in fact," he said.

She sighed. Pulled out her phone. "Do you know the number of a cab company?" she said to Dex.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," House said, grabbing her arm. "You actually think I'm such an asshole I'm not going to give you a ride home?"

"Do I have to answer that?" she said.

"I'll give you a ride home," he said, patting the bar stool next to him. "But I just ordered this scotch. Have a drink with me."

She laughed.

"I thought you hated drinking with colleagues?" she said.

"Colleagues, plural," House said. "One colleague at a time I can handle. Sit."

######

Gregory House was very good at not kissing Lisa Cuddy. You might even say he was Zen in the art of it. Over the years, there had been many times that he had wanted to kiss her—when her eyes flashed during one of their particularly heated fights; when she was tired and let down her guard and was actually a little vulnerable around him; when she wore that one particular pair of red heels that drove him wild—and he had always restrained himself. But now, after two more drinks at the bar, and after making "a limp for it" to his car, both ducking under his leather jacket, with his arm around her waist, and now, standing at her doorway—she was drenched and laughing and her hair was sticking to her face—he found himself completely helpless before her. He forgot everything he knew about Not Kissing Lisa Cuddy and he dove for her. The kiss was artless, furtive, and too fast for his liking, but my God he wanted more.

"What was that?" she said, genuinely shocked.

"Sorry," he said. "My bad."

She looked at him again, and then this time she was the one who dove for him and they managed to find the key in the potted plant and shove open the door and stagger their way inside.

She was drunk, but not too drunk to realize that this was a bad idea, but House's mouth and hands felt so good and he was already kissing her neck and unbuttoning her shirt and pulling her bra to the side so he could take her breast in his mouth and she was turned on beyond measure, so she wrapped her legs around him and rammed her tongue in his mouth and he carried her to the bedroom like that. (She hadn't been 100 percent sure he could sustain her weight, with his bad leg and all, but he seemed to have abnormal strength in this moment. Later he would call it "the sex version of those mothers who lift cars off their babies.")

Every voice in their heads that was saying "terrible idea" was now been drowned out by the inchoate voice of flesh and sensation and desire.

Afterwards, both sweaty and out of breath, they couldn't help but to share a sneaky smile of accomplishment that said, "man, we were really good at that thing we just did, huh?"

"Damn woman," House said.

"Right back at ya," she said, still catching her breath.

They both laughed and just for a moment House had this fantasy—of working with Cuddy by day and fucking her by night and maybe it would become more than just sex and maybe he could be her actual boyfriend, because was any woman more perfect and sexy and desirable than Lisa Cuddy? And where was it written that they couldn't be together because it felt so right—so, so right—and he knew that she felt it too and they could. . .

"You should probably go," Cuddy said.

He blinked, rudely roused from his reverie.

"That's dumb," he said, reaching for her. "You have no car. It's still parked at Sullivan's."

"I'll have a neighbor drive me," she said, firmly.

He let go, trying not to show that he was hurt.

"Suit yourself," he said, hopping out of bed. He started to look for his clothing, somewhat huffily.

"Don't be mad," she said, watching him.

"Who's mad?" he said. "I didn't want to cuddle. I was just thinking in terms of logistics."

"I'll be fine." Then she wrapped herself tightly in the sheet. Then she said: "House?"

"Yeah?"

"That was both unexpected and a lot of… fun."

Now that the fog of sex had lifted she was already mad at herself for sleeping with him. Keeping things strictly professional with House was an ongoing battle, one that she had clearly lost tonight—in a big way. (Even now, watching him get dressed in the dark—his lean torso, his ropy arm muscles, that wonderful cock of his—she wanted him again—as always. She sometimes felt that Gregory House had been designed somewhere in a lab specifically to turn her on. But rational Lisa Cuddy—ambitious, striving, youngest-female-dean-in-the-country Lisa Cuddy—also knew that House made her lose control. And being in control was very important to her.)

"Yeah," he said mopily. "Fun."

"See you tomorrow?"

He looked at his watch.

"Actually, later today," he said. Then, somewhat coldly, "I'll let myself out."

"Thanks," she said, when he got to the door. "For everything."

"Any time," he said.

######

By the next afternoon, House had already managed to convince himself that all of his romantic yearnings from the night before had just been the sex talking. He always did turn into a big fucking pussy after great sex. Frankly, he just hoped that she wouldn't get too clingy.

He was having this thought, while also conducting a DDx with his team, when he looked up and saw Cuddy in the hallway. His whole body tensed.

"Be right back," he said. "Don't go and solve the case without me."

"We won't," Cameron said.

"I was being ironic," House said.

Once in the hallway, he folded his arms.

"What's up?"

"I found my keys," she said, smiling sheepishly, dangling them in front of him. "They were in the ladies room at Sullivan's."

"Good for you," he said, cautiously.

There was a bit of an awkward pause.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Just dandy," he said.

"I just wanted to make sure things weren't going to get. . .weird between us," she said.

"Not weird at all," he said.

"I thought it was good that we stuck to our 'Have sex once every 20 years schedule'," she cracked. Then she added with a grin: "My place? 2026?"

"It's a date," he said, with a light smile.

He was looking at her, in that penetrating way of his, like he could read her mind. She looked down.

"How's your . . .uh. . .case going?" she asked.

"Not so great. Actually, I should probably get back to it," he said.

"Good idea," she said, nodding. "See you later?"

"Seems probable."

He headed back to the DDx room where, instead of brainstorming, the team was all gaping at him.

"What was that all about?" Cameron said.

"We were discussing the mindblowing sex we had last night," House said. "Either that, or she wanted to remind me my insurance forms are overdue. You guys decide."

"I vote mindblowing sex," Chase said.

"I vote insurance forms," Cameron said.

######

So things went back to normal, which was easier for them than it might be for some other colleagues who had hooked up because they were always suppressing sexual desire for each other. And then, three weeks later, there was a knock on House's door.

"Hey, it's me," Cuddy said.

"Coming!" House yelled. He quickly limped into the bathroom, tried to fix his hair, which looked like it had just gone through a wind tunnel, swallowed down some mouthwash, and smelled his arm pits, which seemed okay.

I knew she couldn't stay away! he thought, shocked by how excited he was.

He expected her to be dressed in a sexy way: Maybe a teddy with a trench coat over it and heels, but she was wearing skinny jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

"Hi," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

This whole thing felt off to him—not work-related, but definitely not a seduction either.

She sat down on the couch.

"Drink?" he said.

"No thanks," she said.

He poured himself a scotch and sat across from her.

"What's up?" he asked.

'We have a situation," she said, looking at her hands.

"What kind of situation?"

"I'm pregnant."

To be continued. . .