Title: Two Truths

Author: cardiogod

Rating: PG

Pairing: House/Cuddy

Spoilers: Season 5, through "Let Them Eat Cake"

Summary: He's not in love with her

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore and co, not me. I'm just playing with them for a while.

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He's not in love with her.

He's not in love with her because he is House and she is Cuddy and that is the end of the discussion. He is damaged and married to his misery, she is Satan incarnate and incapable of loving anything but her job. She frustrates him, says no to him, makes him do his job, forces him to spend ten hours a week in clinic hell and he doesn't love her. But she lets him win when it matters and she's better at her job than he likes to admit and she once perjured herself for him, so she's not all bad.

But he's not in love with her.

He kisses her fiercely, passionately and he can feel her lips against his, desperate, her body molding into his as he pulls her to him. Her tears dampen his cheeks and he feels her sorrow flowing into him as she opens her mouth to him and pillages his with her tongue, bringing herself so close that he hardly knows where he ends and where she begins. He doesn't know who ends the kiss, but at the moment he feels the cold air of her hallway hit his dampened lips, he feels a twinge of something. Sadness, happiness, longing, relief, he doesn't know what. They remain in each others' space for a moment, breathing each others' air, and for a second, the thought crosses his mind, but he shakes it off and hurries out the door.

He's not in love with her.

He stands outside her door, watching her sip coffee and immerse herself in work and he knows that he couldn't possibly feel for her anything but a healthy contempt. But her hair falls softly over her face, she moves the mug to her lips, and he stirs uncomfortably, causing his leg to throb again, for the first time since he hurriedly left his apartment. He looks at her and the pain intensifies, so he turns around and walks back to his motorcycle, with the thought that it would leave if he did. He turns the key, takes a final glance at the darkened house, and sees her at the window, a perplexed expression gracing her features. His hesitation is so slight he's not even sure she notices that he took a moment to look at her before he steps on the gas pedal and races down her street.

He's not in love with her.

He knows he reacted too quickly and too surely to her relationship question the minute the words are out of his mouth. Her smile quirks in non-belief and he allows himself a moment of self-deprecation for his lack of foresight and his foolishness for mentioning the subject in the first place. While he doesn't love her, he has allowed himself the admission that he lusts after her body because, in all actuality, it really is a fantastic body that has the unfortunate circumstance of being attached to her brain, and you can't really fault a body for that. So when she asks her question, he is obvious in his half-lie, half because he does want a relationship, but only with her funbags and the ass that puts J-Lo's to shame.

He's not in love with her.

She is maddening, her takeover of his office a hostile one, so that every bit of his life is invaded by her, that he is surrounded by her everywhere he goes with no feasible escape route. She tortures him with her closeness and when it gets to be too much, when he can feel the heat from her body seeping into his, when he can feel her throaty whisper sending blood rushing south, when her face is all too near his own, he puts distance between them and manages to cop a feel at the same time. He doesn't love her, so he doesn't kiss her because if he did, he might, and not loving her is so much safer than loving her could ever be. So he grabs her boob and she runs away. But he brings her an old memory because part of him wants her to run back.

He's not in love with her.

He doesn't love her. That is his truth. He is House and she is Cuddy and he isn't in love with her, they aren't in love with each other. But when he looks at her, lying peacefully beside him, the winter moonlight pirouetting across her naked back, he remembers his second truth; everybody lies.