Lisa sighed, walking towards the library, her coat pulled tight around herself, carrying a stack of books.

She turned a corner, and ran straight into someone.

They both fell, and Lisa landed in a snow bank.

She flailed around for a moment, until laughter met her ears, and she managed to push herself partially out of the snowbank.

The guy she had run into had gotten to his feet, and was standing, laughing at her sprawled form.

She glared at him, packed a snowball, and threw it so it hit him smack in the face.

He wheeled for a moment, then righted himself, and kept laughing.

"Good aim," he said, as she continued to glare at him.

She blinked, as he offered her a hand, but took it.

He pulled her to her feet with barely an effort, and bent to pick up her books.

God, he was tall. And hot.

He tried to hand them to her, but she was too busy trying to get the snow out of her clothes.

"Dammit!" she swore, and unzipped her jacket to shake out the snow. Her shirt was completely wet, from snow melted by her body heat.

She glared at him again.

He chucked, and nodded to a table.

She walked over to it with him, and he set the books down, helping her get rid of the snow.

She was still wet, and it was freezing out.

She was starting to shiver.

He sighed, looking her over, "where were you off to in such a hurry?"

"My anatomy study group," she said, "the exam is tomorrow morning."

"One would think you'd have anatomy down pat."

She blinked at him, confused.

"Excuse me?" she asked, finally.

He smirked, "what with how nice yours is."

Lisa realized he was hitting on her.

"We could study *anatomy* together…"

She rolled her eyes, and went to pick up her books.

Her fingers were numb.

Dammit, she shouldn't have run out in such a hurry!

He picked up her books and handed them to her.

"Seriously," he said, dropping the lame attempting-to-be-suave tone, "I'm a med student. Just finished my last exam of the semester. And I'm bored. Seriously, bored."

She tilted her head.

"What's your name?"

"Greg House."

She blinked.

She had heard of him.

He was an incredible flirt, but from what she had heard, he never pushed, or took advantage... although he was supposed to be an asshole.

And she doubted anyone in the study group would know as much anatomy as a fourth year med student…

She nodded.

She needed the grade to get all A's.

Greg grinned, and, after shaking it out one last time, wrapped her coat around her shoulders.

Funny.

She had never heard that he was *nice*… always quite the opposite.

She followed him, and suddenly realized they weren't going to the library.

"Where are we going?" she asked, suspiciously.

He looked at her, and shrugged, "my place. I figured you'd want to dry off, and my apartment's just off campus."

She sighed.

He was right.

She was freezing.

She followed him to an apartment building, and up a set of steps.

Then waited, while he unlocked the door.

"Steven!" called Greg, loudly, "you here?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Leave."

A somewhat overweight guy, maybe a little younger than Greg, stuck his head out into the room.

His eyebrows shot up into his unruly hair, "you actually crawled out of your hole enough to get a girl?"

"Nope," said Greg, cheerily, "knocked into her. Going to help her with her… anatomy... Which is why you need to leave."

Steven snickered, "just give me the details later, man. That's all I ask."

Greg smirked, as Steven left.

Then he dropped the expression, and made a disgusted face at the closing door, muttering under his breath, "dickhead…"

Lisa laughed.

Greg led her into a messy room, across the hall from an even more messy one.

In contrast to the one across the hall, the one they entered was filled mostly with books, and a dying plant by the window.

Greg grabbed a towel, a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt, and handed them to her.

She looked at him, "I'm not walking around without a bra."

Greg raised an eyebrow, "what, you think I keep bras just lying around?... hold on."

He got up, and walked across the hall, digging through his roommate's dresser, and eventually emerging with a lacy red and black thing, holding it out on the tip of his finger.

"Don't ask who this came from. I have no idea. I'll warn you, given the kind of people Steven brings here, they probably had an STD."

Lisa smiled.

Greg raised his eyebrows, "I'm not kidding. He's got syphilis *six times* in the last semester."

"And you haven't?"

Greg blinked at her for a moment, "I've been working my ass off. Or, at least my eyes out. The only thing that hasn't been in action is my dick. Here. Take it. Or just… whatever."

He gestured down the hall, to a bathroom.

Lisa walked towards it, and changed into the sweatpants and t-shirt, after drying herself off with Greg's towel. She kind of liked how it smelled, as she rubbed the rough fabric over her face to dry it. She hung her bra over the shower door, and after examine the red lacy thing, decided she would rather risk Greg seeing her boobs bounce a little.

Greg looked at her, then, checking her stack of books, attacked a pile of his own, eventually emerging with a copy of Gray's. It had tabs sticking out about every two pages, all meticulously labeled in half-illegible handwriting.

He shoved another stack of books off the bed, to make room for her to sit down.

She did, and he looked over her shoulder as she read through the review sheet.

Three hours later, Lisa's stomach started growling.

Greg called for a pizza, and they continued to work over her review sheet for a while.

Lisa got up to see if her bra, at least, was dry.

She heard a thump, and stuck her head out the door of the bathroom, to see Greg sprawled on the floor, half the pizza on his face

He pulled it off, quickly, and scrabbled at the hot cheese stuck to his face.

Lisa hurried to help him get the burning hot dairy product out of his light stubble.

He ended up sitting there with a patchwork of small, fairly mild burns all down the right side of his face.

Lisa couldn't help it.

She burst out laughing.

He glared sourly at her, then blinked as he realized…

She was naked from the waist up.

God, she was hot.

She was instinctively covering her nipples, and she was still wearing the pants he had leant her, but…

She looked down at herself.

Then at him.

Then got up, quickly, glaring.

He gripped her wrist, quietly, before she managed to get out of a squatting position.

She stopped, ready to smack him if he did anything weird.

But he just leaned in close to her, and kissed her.

He didn't push.

He didn't take advantage.

As far as she could tell, it had nothing to do with her not wearing a shirt.

It was just a small, lips-closed kiss.

*She* was the one who opened her mouth and deepened it.

Until they were moving back towards the bedroom, in a flurry of flesh and warmth and human contact.

The next morning, Cuddy woke.

She was late for her exam.

She shook Greg's shoulder, furiously, hoping he had a car. She could still make it in time to get something down, at least.

He quickly handed her a new shirt and pants, since hers were still damp, and she put on the underwear and bra from the day before.

Then they jogged down the steps, and Lisa found herself staring at a motorcycle.

With Greg swinging his leg over it, and inserting the key.

"You're not serious…"

He shrugged, "don't have a car. Steven's isn't here. Get on, I'm not gonna crash."

Lisa got on, and held on as tight as she could, her eyes squeezed shut.

He got her to the bio building, she got off, wobbled, and then ran inside.

Internally, she was resolving to never have anything to do with random med students ever again.

The test went incredibly well.

She had no trouble, even through she had missed a third of the time.

It was her worse class.

Maybe she couldn't totally be mad at Greg.

He *had* helped her study.

And helped her relax.

Two months and two missed periods later, she wasn't feeling so generous, as she pounded on his apartment door, one cold February morning.

Steven answered, without any pants on.

"I need to talk to Greg."

Steven, who looked stoned, shrugged, and let her in.

She walked into Greg's room, and blinked.

He was lying on his bed, ankle propped up on a pillow and wrapped in ice, wearing glasses as he read some obscure medical text, a Who album playing in the background.

This sight reminded her why, exactly, she can't kill him for this.

She was the one who took it farther than a kiss.

But he was the one who didn't have any damned condoms!

He looked up, as she rapped her knuckles against the doorframe.

He seemed to take a moment to recognize her, looking at her over his glasses.

Then comprehension dawned, and he nodded, "yes?"

"I'm pregnant."

He paled.

"Did… I mean… are you sure it's me?"

"Yes."

He put the book down, and pulled off his glasses, setting them on the table next to his bed.

"Are you… okay?" he asked, sounding incredibly awkward.

"I… can't say… I don't know."

"What are you going to do?"

She blinked at him, "you're not going to tell me I should get rid of it?"

He shrugged, "how the hell could I know what you should do with it? I helped you study and slept with you. Once. I don't know anything about you. And I suck at making choices like that, anyway."

Lisa laughed, despite herself.

He really was being fairly good about it.

He scratched the back of his head, "do you… uh… I mean…"

"What?"

"Do you want me to marry you?"

Lisa stared at him.

Then she slapped him, "excuse me?!"

He held up his hands, half in surrender, half to stave off further attack, "I don't know, okay! It's what my dad would expect me to do! I'm not a big people person, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. It seemed like… the least irresponsible thing I could say."

She sighed, and sat down on the edge of his bed, looking him over.

Finally, she asked, "what happened to your ankle?"

"I… slipped…" he said, "on some ice. On the steps. No thanks to STEVEN!"

He shifted slightly, and a grimace of pain crossed his features, before they settled back into awkward embarrassment.

Steven stuck his head into the room, "you say something?"

"Yeah. Make coffee."

Steven scowled.

"I'm not your bitch!"

"You are for the next week, remember?"

Steven growled, and left.

Lisa looked back at Greg, eyebrows raised.

Greg sighed, "he was supposed to salt the steps. I slipped 'cause he forgot, and I had my arms full of books, and couldn't see where I was going."

Lisa sighed.

"I… can't raise a kid on my own."

He swallowed, "okay…."

"I don't want to marry a guy who's just offering because of a one-night-stand that I was at *least* 50 percent responsible for. But if I'm gonna keep this kid, I need you on board."

He nodded, grimacing.

"Are you going to keep it?"

She looked at him for a while.

He looked nervous and apprehensive.

She couldn't blame him.

"I…" she sighed, "I don't want to have an abortion. I'm going to carry, either way. And I expect you to be getting me pickles and ice cream—at least once you can move without going all pale. But I'm not ready to commit to the whole thing alone—that wouldn't be good for me *or* the kid. And I don't want to force you."

Greg nodded, slowly, "okay."

"So… we'll just see where this goes, okay?"

Greg nodded, as Steven came in with two cups of coffee, handing them to Lisa and Greg.

Greg put his hand over Lisa's, then sniffed his own, not letting her drink.

"Steven!" he yelled, looking pissed off, "weed does not go in the coffee maker!"

Lisa smiled, two weeks later, as she opened the door of her dorm on Greg, holding a giant bag of Bugles in one hand, and a stack of books under the other arm.

He leaned in, and, waiting for her permission, kissed her on the cheek.

He was practically glowing.

Lisa had the distinct impression that he had been very lonely for a long time.

But, she wasn't about to complain.

He had this intense amount of energy, which he was focusing all of on her.

It was… kind of addictive.

She smiled, as he plopped the books down onto her desk, and ripped open the bag of chips.

They sat together, heads bent over the same book, as they read.

Lisa's roommate got a high fever.

Lisa took her down to the campus med center.

She was more than a little surprised to find Greg there, behind the counter, only his back visible as he dug through a box of files.

"Greg?"

Greg sat up, blinking at her.

"Oh. Hi."

He looked past her at flushed Sara Martins.

Then back at her.

"Uh… I got in an argument with my dad…" he said, awkwardly, "I didn't want to tell you…"

Lisa decided to address it at a later date, and nodded, signing Sara in, then taking the girl's arm and leading her over to a chair.

She really looked like she was about to pass out…

Suddenly, she did, and Lisa had to try and hold her up, keep her from hitting her head on the floor.

Then, Greg was there, lowering Sara to the floor in a controlled manner, laying her out, checking her pulse, putting his ear by her mouth.

"Hey!" he yelled, turning to the door "Dr. Mathews! Emergency out here!"

A balding man in a white coat appeared, and knelt on the floor by Greg and Sara, whipping out a stethoscope.

Lisa stood back, just watching Greg's face, as they worked over Sara.

"I'll get a thermometer," said Greg, and ran into the back to get one.

Everyone else in the waiting room was staring.

Greg looked at the reading.

"101.4."

"That's not nearly high enough to make someone pass out."

Mathews pinched Sara's skin.

It smoothed out immediately after he let go. Not dehydrated…

"Hey, you," said Mathews, looking at Lisa, "you brought her in?"

Lisa nodded.

"Can you think of anything that might have caused this?"

"She's been feverish, but no…"

"How long?" asked Greg, quickly.

"Just a few days."

Suddenly, Sara's arms and legs went stiff, and a loud moan came out of her mouth.

Greg pulled off his shirt, balling it up under her head, as Mathews rolled her onto her side.

"Gonna need suction!" yelled Greg.

Lisa stood back, literally unable to move.

Greg looked at her, "call an ambulance."

She nodded, suddenly freed from her frozen state, and ran for a phone.

Mathews had to stay at the clinic, so Greg and Lisa got in the ambulance, and Greg reported everything that had happened, all the numbers, everything.

They pulled up at the hospital, and Lisa held on to Greg's arm as they got out.

He looked at her.

She was panting, hand over her belly, "Greg…"

His eyes widened, "shit!"

He gripped her around the shoulders, steered her to the desk.

"Premature labor," he said.

The man didn't look up from typing.

Greg reached down, and pulled the sheet out of the typewriter, crumpling it up.

"Pre. Mature. Labor."

The man looked at him.

Then at Lisa.

Then pointed down a hallway, a sour look on his face.

Greg tossed the sheet at the man's forehead, and gripped Lisa's arm.

She couldn't walk.

Her knees gave way, as she cried out with pain.

He *lifted* her.

"Damn, this is so much easier in the movies."

She managed a small laugh, as he shoved his shoulder through a door.

Someone rushed over, and in a flurry of movement and white coats, Lisa was on a bed, panting.

Greg pulled a stool over, while the doctors worked on her.

He could see, across the room, Sara being brought in on a gurney, still seizing.

Greg got up, and walked around to block the view from Lisa, who hadn't noticed.

"It's okay," he said, awkwardly, "come on. Calm down. It's okay."

She grabbed his hand, and held on to it, tightly.

Eventually, the labor stopped.

Lisa lay, panting, her hand still loosely gripping Greg's.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded, awkward, and watched her drift off.

There was no way just her roommate being sick set it off.

So… what was it?

He reached up to brush a few strands of hair out of her face, and realized…

She was hot. Fever, hot.

He looked over his shoulder, at her roommate seizing on the other bed in the small emergency room.

Then back at her.

Then he paled.

"Oh shit…"

Greg paced, back and forth, forth and back, in front of the room the doctors were talking in.

Finally, one of them came out.

"We think they have something called trichinosis… it's a parasite—"

"I know what it is!" snapped Greg, "and they don't have it!"

The man blinked, "we believe they do…"

Greg shook his head impatiently, "Lisa's Jewish, you moron. Trichinosis is carried through uncooked pork. She doesn't eat pork. They don't have trichinosis."

The doctor blinked for a moment.

Then he sighed, "then… we really don't know what they have."

"Oh," said Greg, loudly, "that's just great!"

The man held up his hands, "look, we're doing all we can."

"Meningitis."

"Lumbar Puncture was clear."

"Encephalitis."

"No way to tell."

"Brain abscess."

"Again, no way to tell."

"Acute hemorrhagic leukoencephalitis. Some kind of Bartonella infection. Arbovirosis."

"I…"

"Alveolar Hydatid Disease. Heavy metal toxicity."

"Um…"

"Ehrlichiosis. Katayama fever. Naegleria. Campylobacter food poisoning. Nocardia asteroids. Mucormycosis. Rift Valley fever. Rocky Mountain spotted fever. M—"

The man held up his hands.

"I don't know, okay!"

"Then find out!" yelled Greg, almost a roar.

Another doctor came out of the room, at that.

"What's going on out here?"

"She doesn't eat pork," said the first guy, weakly.

The second doctor looked at Greg.

"Aren't you the boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Why are you in here, instead of with your girlfriend?"

"Because she's unconscious, and you can't figure out what's wrong with her!"

"And you can? Go back and be with—"

"Encephalitis. Brain abscess. Acute hemorrhagic leukoencephalitis. Some kind of Bartonella infection. Arbovirosis. Alveolar Hydatid Disease. Heavy metal toxicity. Ehrlichiosis. Katayama fever. Naegleria. Campylobacter food poisoning. Nocardia asteroids. Mucormycosis. Rift Valley fever. Rocky Mountain spotted fever. There's about a hundred things that could cause this, and you manage to find one that doesn't even apply! That's why I'm here!"

The second doctor looked at him, long and hard.

"What do you suggest we do?"

Greg paused.

"What?"

"I didn't even consider half of those. What do you suggest we do?"

Greg swallowed.

"Stool and blood samples for parasites. White count to check if it's an infection. Blood panel for heavy metals and other toxins. Examine both of them for a rash to rule out rocky mountain spotted fever. And…"

He hesitated, face scrunched up in thought, "there's something called a magnetic resonance imager. They just did the first human study in July. It could show a brain abscess, or encephalitis. I don't know if it's possible, but…"

The doctor blinked at him.

Then grinned, slightly, and nodded.

Greg sighed, watching Lisa's chest move up and down, slowly but surely.

Sara was the one getting the experimental scan. Lisa was too unstable to move, and they didn't know what effects the machine might have on a fetus.

The doctor came back in, holding a sheet that looked like it was from an x-ray.

He popped it up on the light box.

"This," he said, "according to the people running the machine, should not be there."

Greg stood, and looked at it.

Then at the doctor.

"She has a brain abscess. We'll drain Sara's, find out what she has from the fluid, and start both of them on antibiotics."

Greg sighed, and leaned against the wall, utterly exhausted.

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder.

"Congratulations," he said, "you saved your girlfriend's life."

Lisa miscarried, the same day she woke up.

He had saved her life, but the thing that had been keeping them from clawing each other's eyes out was gone.

He finished the spring semester, and moved on.

He loved her.

But even though he had saved her life, he still felt that he should have been faster. That maybe if she hadn't gotten so sick, she could have carried.

He never told her, he denied it…

But…

He couldn't handle seeing her every day and knowing he had been the one who could have saved her baby. Their baby.

The doctor he had worked with at the Michigan hospital gave him a call, and he started an internship with the guy out in California.

Lisa wasn't mad. Sure, they sniped at each other, and Greg was being the asshole she had always heard he was, but never experienced herself.

But she knew, when he said he was breaking up with her, that it wasn't because of the fighting. She knew he was mad at himself.

And he did have to go on and start his career.

She just hoped he would eventually get over what he considered he was guilty of. Which, as far as she was concerned, he wasn't in any way responsible for.

Over twenty years later, House limped into the baby store after Wilson, and found Cuddy there.

"I'm adopting a baby," she said, almost literally glowing with happiness, "I didn't want anyone to know, in case I didn't get approved. Today, I did."

House swallowed, looking between her and Wilson.

Why Wilson?

Three years ago, she had come to him for injections.

But when it came to an actual baby…

She…

She didn't trust him.

"Are you gonna congratulate me?"

He swallowed, then managed to gain some kind of composure again, "if you're happy, I'm…."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

He limped out, as fast as he could go.

It shouldn't hurt, this much.

He didn't care what anyone else thought of him.

So why did it matter that Cuddy had trusted Wilson over him?

Why did it hurt?

Every time he saw her.

It hurt.

And he lashed out, telling her it wasn't going to work, telling her she'd be a terrible mother, told her she should have Emma abort the fetus.

He didn't know why he kept saying it, why he kept doing it.

He was jealous.

That was it.

Wilson had given her that baby, through being the one she asked.

And he was jealous.

He felt guilty, after Emma took her back.

He kissed her, because he didn't know what else to do.

How else to explain that he had *wanted* her to be happy…

But would have been happier himself if he was the one making her happy.

Months later, he limped into the NICU, where Cuddy was leaning over a crib.

She was glowing, again.

They talked.

She was getting the baby.

He felt something he hadn't felt since that year, way back in med school.

He smiled.

"Merry Christmas, Cuddy," he said, quietly.

*He* had given her this baby. Obviously not literally, but…

How it got to her was associated with him.

Not with Wilson.

And she was taking it.

He limped out, still smiling a quiet little smile.

She wasn't still mad at him.

She didn't blame at him.

She *wasn't* mad at him.

He stopped, blinking.

He felt… light.

He felt…

He felt happy.

He limped out to the parking lot, feeling like he was going to float off the ground.

He stood next to his motorcycle, looking down at it.

Then he looked across the parking lot, at Cuddy's space.

He grinned, and limped back into the hospital.

Twenty minutes and a "borrowed" scalpel later, Cuddy walked out to her car, and got in it.

Less than a minute after that, she was walking back into the hospital, a resigned expression on her face.

House limped out, holding his helmet in one hand as he headed to his motorcycle.

Cuddy spotted him, "House."

He turned around, looking at her, "what? Clinic's closed, and I'm not taking another case."

"Can you give me a ride home? My tire's flat."

He blinked at her.

Then shrugged, "whatever."

He handed her his helmet, and lifted his bag leg over the seat.

She climbed on behind him, and he pulled his sunglasses out of his jacket, slipping them on his face.

Cuddy gripped him tightly around the waist, almost exactly like she had all those years ago.

They pulled out onto the snowy road, and she squeezed tighter as he turned.

Then, suddenly, there was a horn blaring, and House swerved to avoid the car skidding over the surface of the road.

He lost control of the bike, and they skidded as well, towards a snow bank.

House let go of the bike.

Cuddy let go of him, and landed in the bank.

House did as well, but the bike landed on his right foot, which made him yell with pain.

Cuddy fought her way out of the bank, and heaved the bike off.

The car had driven away after regaining control.

Cuddy looked at him, meeting his eyes.

"House, I… I'm so sorry. If you hadn't been driving me home…"

He shook his head, grunting with pain.

"It's okay," he said, tightly, "it's not broken, or anything."

She sighed, relieved.

He sighed, resting his head back in the snow, as he played with a handful in his gloved hands.

Then, without warning, lobbed a snowball at her.

Cuddy yelped.

He was grinning.

She smiled, despite herself, and threw one at him.

"Cuddy," he said, as she leaned over him to scoop up more snow.

She looked at him, "yeah? It hurt worse?"

He shook his head, but said nothing more.

Cuddy shrugged, and leaned back over for more snow.

He took a deep breath.

"Lisa."

She stopped.

Then looked at him.

"Did you just call me by my first name?"

He nodded.

She stared at him.

She swallowed.

He was beet red.

She smiled.

"Greg," she said, quietly, "let's see where this goes."

He grinned, and sat up enough that his lips met hers.

"Let's."