They went to the first little seaside motel they could find; the clerk never even looked up from her copy of Snow Falling on Cedars as they checked in and picked up the key.

Lisa opened the door and tried to flick on the light, but House stopped her, laying one warm hand on her wrist. She let him lead her to the bathroom, and in the straining light of a single bulb under a frosted cover he slowly undressed her, then himself.

House turned on the water and stepped in, pulling Lisa in behind him.

Water streamed down over both of them, and it wasn't until later that Lisa realized how his face had already been wet before he turned to let the cascade hit him.

He yanked her up to his mouth for a broodingly deep kiss as the warm water splattered around them. Wet and slick and brazen, House took his time claiming her mouth, sliding a lazy tongue around hers in a slick dance punctuated by nibbles. Lisa swayed against him, feeling the press of House's muscle and skin against her naked body.

"Jesus I want you," he breathed in her ear. "Deep and slow and hard all night, Lisa. Want to bury myself in you and stay there . . ."

She trembled. House's wet face rubbed alongside hers. Somehow they made it out of the shower, impatiently drying, reluctantly letting terrycloth come between them. House reeled her in and sank teeth into the nape of her neck, savoring the taste of her clean cool skin.

Lisa threw herself backwards, tugging him with her through the open door to the bed. They dropped heavily on the thick comforter, wrapped around each other, the chill of wet skin heating up as they rubbed shamelessly against each other once again. Lisa whimpered with need, letting her legs hook around House's hips, thrusting blindly against the iron ridge of him.

The only light in the bedroom was a shaft from the bathroom, a slice of pale that created a wide band across their bodies. Lisa could see the hollows and muscles of House's torso, the broad frame of his strong shoulders. She ran her open mouth over the hard rise of one, letting her moan vibrate against his skin.

House rolled to his side, pulling Lisa with him, palms sliding with hungry strength over her satiny skin. She refused to lie back however, and set out to explore his uncharted chest, claiming it with kisses and nips. House's astonished expression made her laugh softly; he had no concept of his own status as an object of lust and she was dying to change that.

"Greg—" Lisa begged huskily. "Please—" Her hands curled around the thick shaft rising between his thighs. House drew in a shaky breath, throbbing in her small fingers.

"Come here then—" he breathed in a low whisper. Lisa slid down his body, pushing him on his back, trying to keep as much skin contact as possible. House let his hands caress her while she shifted; he licked his lips and rolled over with her.

The gentle insistent power of his body stretching out on hers was irresistible, and Lisa sighed with a pleasure deeper than the mere physical.Warmly, unhurriedly House took her hand, wrapped it around his shaft and whispered, "Please--?" in a timbre of controlled desire that made her nipples harden. Lisa parted her knees and guided him in, her face pressed to the hollow of his throat, aware of his breathing, her pulse pounding, of how everything was about to change forever.

House was big, and she gasped as he slid forward, stretching, filling a sensual ache she didn't realize was there until he was there, stroking powerfully, slowly.

"Ohhhhhhhh! Are you . . ." he whispered with a pleasured grunt. She reached for his shoulders, shaking her head against his skin, lost in the heated throb of him deep within her.

It was powerfully good, the relentless climb, higher and higher. House dropped his head, panting, his entire body focused on joining with hers; Lisa felt every exquisite thrust and knew it was now---

She groaned, clutching him, her climax rippling through her in strong steady surges as she gasped. House pressed his mouth to her cheek, stifling a groan from the heart as his lanky frame contracted, and Lisa felt the hot wet pulses deep within her. Cradling him on her stomach, she held House tightly, crooning soft wordless sounds of pleasure as he kissed her.

Sleep came swiftly and easily, they stayed one, dropping into deep slumber together, wrapped up in a tangle of sheets and limbs.

oo00oo00oo

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."

oo00oo00oo

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.