A/N-Thanks to everyone who read, and thanks to last chapter's reviewers: LoveMyHouse, freeasabird14, grouchysnarky, housebound, newsession, OldSFfan, JLCH, MWoods78, Abby, marianamd, HuddyGirl, jaybe61, Huddyphoric, ikissedtheLaurie, dmarchl21, Sheis1963, Little Greg, lenasti16, Bere, bladesmum, maya295, Tori, Devon and the Guests.

-Normal-

When Cuddy woke up the next morning, House was lying on his side next to her with his hand resting low on her chest. "What are you doing?" she sleepily asked.

"Waiting," he answered.

This was the kind of moment they'd missed out on during the previous months, moments of awe typically shared by new couples who could get lost just looking at each other. She smiled at him, feeling some of the same things he'd been keeping inside, and, in an unthinking moment, reached up and held his face in her hand. His eyes closed slowly as he soaked in the emotion between them. When he opened his eyes again, she lifted her head and softly kissed him. "House…," she began, regret obvious in her tone, "I know I've been—"

"Tonight," he interrupted, with just as much regret. He wondered if she'd ever look at him that way again after she knew she wasn't as abnormal as she thought. He continued, "We can talk about it tonight. We have to go."

When they were ready, House went to his hall closet and grabbed two helmets. "No. I'll drive," Cuddy said, shaking her head.

"Why?"

"Methadone, overdose, being dragged across the pavement going sixty miles an hour, death…all really great reasons to let me drive."

"You rode with me when I was on Vicodin…lots of Vicodin, and you were fine. My levels looked better this morning anyway. They're not going to get bad fast enough for me to overdose today. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today."

"That's nothing to joke about."

"But it's true."

"Maybe the near-experience of you going into respiratory arrest the other night is still fresh in my mind."

"You're safer now than you were before. It's been too long. I need this. It's only an hour away," he argued, walking closer and sliding the helmet over her head. Once it was on, he thumped his open hand on the top and asked, "You okay in there?" She started to talk, her voice too muffled to understand, so he added, "I can't hear you. You should wear one of these at work," before he grinned evilly and walked away.

They arrived in the town of Red Bank a little over an hour later. It was a beautiful summer morning, and a day that seemed full of possibility. Of course the Marine training facility they eventually rode onto wasn't exactly what Cuddy had been hoping for. They pulled up to the gate and House removed his helmet, asking Cuddy to give him the backpack that she'd carried on her back for the ride.

There were two guards staring them down suspiciously as House pulled his wallet from the backpack and took out their IDs, giving Cuddy hers. He held his hand out over his shoulder, as he always did when it was time for her to get off his bike, so she could balance. The guards searched their backpack and asked a few questions as they briefly checked the pair for weapons before they were allowed to enter the facility. Once they were back on his bike and riding in, Cuddy yelled through her helmet, "What in the hell are we doing here?"

They parked in front of an official looking building, and, after Cuddy dismounted a second time, he explained, "This is the errand for Mom. The man who runs this facility, Burke, considered himself one of Dad's friends. He has some things he wants Mom to have, but he didn't want to mail them."

"What sort of things?"

House shrugged like he didn't know or care about the items at all. "Mom wants it. She doesn't ask for much."

He took his cane from his bike and began walking slowly up the steps. She began to follow, but when he reached the top of the stairs, he made a face of hesitation. "You're coming in?" he asked.

"What else would you like me to do?" she whispered, looking at the very unfamiliar territory around her where she didn't particularly want to be left behind.

He whispered back, "I'm not exactly popular with this group. I was never really a favorite, but since Dad's funeral—"

"People you've pissed off aren't exactly hard to come by."

He couldn't argue with that, so he held open the door and gestured for her to go through. Guards directed them to the appropriate office. As soon as House gave his name, Burke, a sour and obviously high ranking man, emerged from an office behind the counter. He was growling, although no noise actually came from the man. He stared at House with a scowl that was supposed to make the recipient cower, but House was obviously bored by the attempt to intimidate. "You have stuff for my mother?" House asked without any introduction.

The Marine looked over at Cuddy, making some evaluation with results that were unclear. "Ma'am," Burke formally greeted her, "kindly take a seat for a moment."

House quietly told her, "Be back in a sec," somewhat amused by the expression of concern on her face.

Cuddy could see them through the door. The men weren't loud, but the disdain the Marine had for House was obvious. The more Burke tried to express his disdain, the more House seemed deeply disinterested by whatever was being said. Burke handed House a box and House paused only briefly to pick up Cuddy before he was out the door.

He managed with the box most of the way, but when they reached the stairs, she took it from him with opportunistic glint in her eye. She hurried down the steps to a cement ledge, trying to block him from the box with her body. He looked on with amusement because he wasn't interested in trying to hide it from her. She held up a photo album like she'd unearthed a great lost treasure and gloated, "Ha."

He shook his head, "Be my guest."

Opening it, she paged through several sheets of the book and confoundedly said, "You're not even in here."

"I didn't expect to be," he said as he came over and stood next to her so he could see. "This is all Marine stuff. Mom kept the family ones."

"Oh," she disappointedly answered.

"I didn't realize you wanted to see any."

"Why wouldn't I?" she asked, offended.

"You're wrong," he abruptly said, pointing to one of the pictures. "That's me."

She squinted, studying the image of a kid sitting in the background, sulking. "My god, you've been making that expression for a long time," she observed amusedly. She started digging through to box, finding awards and commendations, and a few other official pictures, but nothing else that would tell her anything about House. "Was he a good father?" she asked as she placed the items back in the box.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Curiosity. I would have expected to see more evidence of you in here than a blurry spot at the back of a photograph."

"Is that the benchmark for determining good parenting? Pictures?" he asked.

"No. Which is why I asked you if he was a good father and didn't come to any conclusions."

House lifted the box and walked over to his bike. He started removing items and shoving some of them in the backpack. "Depends on your definition. By the standards of most of our ancestors, he was wildly successful. I survived infancy without being carried off by a saber tooth tiger, I didn't die from plague, famine or war. He provided enough shelter and sustenance so I could live to adulthood and enough education for me to survive on my own." He looked at her animatedly and declared, "Success!"

"I should have had those sentiments embroidered on my niece's baby blanket."

"It's true. Our basic function as humans is to live long enough to procreate and make sure our offspring live long enough to do the same. You try to have enough kids so at least a few survive, hopefully not too many to feed. Standards have changed. Even our grandparents were more focused on survival than worrying about their kids' self-esteem or having the perfect home in the suburbs where they could go to pretentious schools and learn to paint with brushes made from the finest wildebeest hair. Really, there are plenty of places where it's still about finding bread and a roof while avoiding an early death."

"Wildebeest hair?"

"Right. All the snottiest schools use it."

She scoffed as she watched him strap the now burgeoning backpack to the back of the bike. "You should start your own school," she suggested.

"I'm starting a whole parenting product line. Books, a school…," he started. She chimed in, and they said at the same time, "Paint brushes." She actually laughed loudly enough to hear.

He hopped on his bike and turned to evaluate the amount of space left for her between his body and the backpack. "Can you fit your gigantic ass in that little space?" he asked.

She was already looking past him at a large gathering of people, and asked, "Is that a parade?"

He shrugged and got off his bike, gesturing for her to come along to explore.

The walk was longer than it looked, a narrow sidewalk and series of steps down a hill. House walked in the grass to avoid the steps and Cuddy asked, "What's going on with your leg?"

"Less methadone, more pain."

"I'm sorry," she answered, sounding defeated.

He stopped walking, leaning more on his cane than she'd seen in weeks, and she came back to see if he needed help. She took his arm to assist and he pulled it away, "You should be sorry. How dare you insist on something as trivial as breathing," he said with fake anger. Looking down at the ground, he added, "We had to lower the dosage so I can breathe and manage my pain at the same time. That's not your fault. It was good medical advice."

"We could try to increase the dosage a little tomorrow," she said, guiltily.

"Stop sounding like you ran over my puppy on my birthday. It's just sore. I can deal with it."

They started to walk and he could feel her disappointment as they arrived at the long chain link fence that separated them from the gathering on the other side. Once they were there, it was easy to see what was happening. The gathering of people who looked like attendees at a parade from afar with their signs and flags were actually all there to wish well to those who were being deployed. It was hard to watch and hard to turn away from at the same time. People of all ages stood, waving goodbye to those they loved. Some wore stoic expressions, trying to appear strong for those who were leaving. Some couldn't hide the fear that the worse might happen, and the person they loved may never come home. Some prayed from the depths of their souls. After the bus left, even the stoic faces showed signs of emotion.

Cuddy slowly turned away from the scene toward House, and she said, "That's gotta be so hard to do."

"Some people will do that tons of times. For some of them, so often it's almost normal. Not easy, but normal. But if all goes well, there's the flipside."

"What do you mean?"

"You should see this crowd in a few months when the people who just left come home. It's—"

"You're not permitted to be here," a voice interrupted. Behind them stood two MPs, glowering a warning. "What's your business here?"

"I had a meeting with Burke," House replied.

"He's meeting you by the fence?" the MP asked snidely.

"I already met him, in his office," House answered with irritation.

"You're trespassing on Federal property."

"We came over here after the meeting," Cuddy tried to explain calmly.

"I'll need to see your IDs," the MP argued.

House took them out of his wallet handed and them over, arguing, "You think we broke in here to watch a deployment? You think that's our nefarious plan?"

"You have two minutes to vacate the property," the MP said as he handed the IDs back. "Without any comments. If you have anything else to say, we can detain you so you can properly discuss your thoughts with my superior officer."

Cuddy looked at House with wide eyes and whispered, "Being arrested by the military is not on my bucket list."

They started to walk back to the bike, moving as quickly as they could. The MPs followed a few steps behind, watching every move the pair made. When they were halfway back up the hill, House said, "It wasn't about the touching."

"What?" she asked.

"On the way down the hill. I didn't pull away because you touched me. I pulled away because I didn't need help."

"Yea. That would be so horrible if I wanted to help you with something," she dryly answered. She slipped her hand down over his as they continued, watching his reaction. He knew she was waiting for him to pull away, proving that it was about her touch, but he tightened his fingers around hers and kept walking.

They were making awkward progress, and it made him second guess his decision to point out reality to her. Part of him thought that maybe he should just keep whatever she wanted to give for as long as she wanted to give it, but he knew he couldn't continue this on such shaky ground. It had been gnawing at him. It wasn't until they were being followed by some very judgmental and rigid MPs that it felt like they were on a date. Once they were back at the bike, they put on their helmets and got situated. He could feel Cuddy relaxing as they pulled away without being arrested and rode into town.

He took her to a Vietnamese restaurant there. Although the décor was plain, the aromas that filled the room were ample evidence of why he'd chosen that place. When the waitress came, offering House a huge grin and a warm greeting, she took their order.

"You've been here before?" Cuddy asked.

"It's the best Vietnamese food in Jersey," he replied as he twisted his straw wrapper into rope.

"How did you even find it?"

"I stayed here as a kid for a few weeks while Dad was being transferred between bases," he replied, occasionally looking behind her at something that caught his attention.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Cuddy turned around and saw a back room where a girl in her early teens was watching two younger siblings who played on the floor with toy bulldozers and blocks. It looked out of place in a restaurant, like a room from a daycare had been miniaturized and transported to that spot. There really wasn't anything else remarkable about the scene. The children seemed happy enough as they played, but she started to wonder why he kept looking at them.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and answered, "Movement keeps catching my eye."

"Oh," she answered. "And this restaurant was here since you were a kid?"

"No. I remembered the town, drove through one day about seven years ago and stopped here."

"So this is what the mysterious Gregory House does with his time off?"

"Some days. Not as often since I've had you to do."

After lunch they left the restaurant and started to walk down the sidewalk. "So this is not exactly a spa weekend…," he started.

"A spa weekend?" she asked.

"Crowne Plaza, Women's Spa weekend, your original offer for hotel sex? Any of this ringing a bell?"

"I remember. When you invaded my home like a Neanderthal and made it clear that you're not one of my girl friends and I'll never, ever be safe with you. And then I meditated you. How could I forget?" she said as she looked him over and flashed a knowingly lascivious grin.

He grinned a little himself, always looking so uncomfortable about smiling, before he regained control of his expression and said, "Well, this is still not a spa weekend," he gestured into a small salon, "but at least it's something."

"You're going to get a manicure with me?"

"No. But I'm going to eat my dessert while you do pampering stuff."

It had been such a long day, beautiful in so many ways, enlightening in others. As they got on his bike when it was time to go home, she asked, "Is this what it's like to date you, House?"

Holding his helmet between his hands as he listened, he could see, feel and hear the fact that within her question, she was telling him that she'd had a good time. He wanted to keep this town and day a nice memory though, so it wasn't time to have the discussion that he knew they'd both be hesitant to have. "I don't know. I've never dated me," he answered pensively as he put on his helmet.

The first few minutes of the ride were fine, great even, as the sticky summer air felt cooler because the wind slipped over their bodies. As they often do in the summer, a storm came up quickly. The slightly less bright sky became slate grey within a few minutes, and lightening filled the shapes of the clouds. It seemed only seconds later that fat drops of rain started to splatter on his helmet visor, but it was the hail that started to ping onto the road that made continuing too risky. As soon as he found an underpass, he pulled his bike safely under its shelter to wait out the storm.

He watched as Cuddy hopped and shivered slightly because her already dampened clothes made her feel chillier. She hurriedly checked his backpack to make sure that his father's contents weren't too wet, but he dismissed her concerns as he leaned against his bike and waited. Rain poured over the sides of the bridge above them like curtains and echoed through their temporary shelter.

As much as he wasn't ready for it, this was the time. Cuddy couldn't leave him before the conversation was done, and he thought it was unlikely that she'd try to distract him with sex in such an open place. Even if she called a taxi, it would take a long time to reach their location. There was a diner or shop on the horizon, but certainly a good distance to walk in the hail, and he guessed that she wouldn't leave him there to fend for himself. "I don't know if there is a normal anymore," he stated suddenly.

She turned, taken aback by his statement. "Normal…what?"

"Life," he answered, watching her come closer to stand almost over his feet as he sat against his bike.

"Thunderstorms making you feel philosophical?" she questioned, still happy enough from her day even when trapped in a storm.

"Remembering, I guess. Dad and his life. Me and mine. That bus of people who shipped out today. Their families who have to stay at home and hope for the best. Then you have those kids in the back of a restaurant who probably spend more time there than at home while their parents work all day every day to keep their business going. That's hardly what most people consider ideal, but those kids don't know the difference. They actually seemed happier than a lot of people."

Cuddy nodded her head, trying to figure out where he was going with this particular string of observations. Initially she thought House was about to tell her the secrets of his childhood. She was truly interested in whatever he was going to say and sort of excited that he would trust her with that information. When he stalled, she encouraged, "Go ahead."

He had a few more seconds to avoid this conversation, but it felt like he had no choice. "You think that you're so abnormal…that we both are…and I'm not sure what to compare it to. I don't know what normal really is, and—"

She laughed loudly, shaking her head as she took a defensive step away from him, "You really are something, House. You act like you see everyone so clearly, all of their motivations and everything that makes them tick, and you're so painfully clueless about yourself."

"Me?" he asked as the situation turned even more drastically than he had expected.

"You act so fearless, but when it comes down to real feelings, you're a coward."

"I'm a coward? You're the one running away from what you want because you got hurt, so you're distracting yourself with a half-relationship that you wouldn't be part of for any other reason. I'm nothing more than a place to hide from babies and heartbreak, or, maybe worse, a placeholder until you find something better. I guess it's safer though, because in the long run, if you don't have those things, you can blame me."

"I didn't realize this trip was a set up. You were trying to make a point? The whole day was about you trying to get me to walk away from our arrangement? The visit to the military base, you probably read about the deployment, you've seen the kids in the restaurant before…I don't know how the spa fit in."

"It didn't."

"Then why did we go there?"

"Because I wanted to."

"A fitting bookend to the original spa misunderstanding," she bitterly observed.

"You can't walk around with blinders on. You're too smart for that," he answered.

"All you needed to say was one word," she angrily answered as she took his phone from his pocket, "and you couldn't even do that." She entered his password, because she'd memorized his too, and she started to tap on the screen. More calmly, she continued, "If you wanted to stop fucking me, all you had to do was say so. I didn't need this whole elaborate setup. I made this so easy for you. One text and you could have walked away. Here," she said as she held out his phone, "all you have to do is hit send. Or maybe that's too much to expect."

He looked down at his phone and saw that she'd started a text. She was the recipient and all it said was DONE.

He could see in the way that she walked the sadness and frustration that she was trying to hide, acting like it was so simple and meaningless. She moved to the edge of the underpass, just inches away from the pouring water. Hail clapped on the ground and splashed the standing water into the air, creating chaos just above the pavement. Her phone finally beeped. She couldn't hear it, but she could feel it in her pocket. Turning back to where he sat, she walked slowly over and nodded, "Thank you."

He stared, noting the too confident posture she held to overcompensate for how she really felt, and he waited for her to check her phone.

"I'll wait here with you until the storm's over. Then I'll call for a ride," she explained.

Reaching around her back, he grabbed her phone from her jeans' pocket and handed it to her. She seemed to think this was part of the game, so she opened the text message and braced herself for something horrible, but the text said, DONE with knowing what I'm NOT.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"All you'll tell me is what I'm not. Not just a friend, not a boyfriend…nots. I don't want this to be so insignificant that we can send a one word text and walk away like the last few months never happened."

"Isn't that why you agreed to do this in the first place? No obligations, no strings, no commitment."

He shook his head as he hung his helmet on the handlebars, but gave no further answer.

"Then why did you agree to it?" she pushed.

"Because I thought something was better than nothing."

"Wasn't it?"

He shook his head, flicking one of the chin straps that dangled from his helmet to avoid looking at her. He finally answered, "Sometimes a taste of what you want only reminds you that you're hungry."

"If you feel that way, why do you want me to walk away?"

"I'm not your placeholder or your excuse. I want you to have what you want. I want you to be happy. You're not that abnormal."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" She was obviously touched, but he could barely look at her because it hurt so much. She explained, "The adoption agency just called a few weeks ago. If that's what I wanted, I could have moved forward. At least one member of my family is always trying to set me up on a blind date. How many have I met? How many have I called?"

"Why?" he pressed.

"Why do you think?"

"I want you to tell me."

"Because I like what I have with you. I like you." It sounded angrier than such a confession usually would, but she could feel the pressure of House searching for answers.

"You like it, but you want an easy out? You want to make sure that with one single-word text you can make it all go away?"

"I thought you liked the easy out," she argued. "And since things weren't broken, I didn't want to change it. It was working…we were working."

"So what am I?"

"You're… not—"

"No," he argued firmly, "you can't use that word. Don't tell me what I'm not. Tell me what I am."

"You're…the man in my life. You've been the only man in my life for months. I don't know what you want me to say."

"That's what I've been. What do you want me to be?"

"See…," she started, shaking her head, "this is the problem. You think you've tried to have a conversation about this with me…but you haven't. You try to push for answers while you sit back and don't say anything. That's not a conversation, it's an interrogation."

"I told you that having a little of you wasn't enough. I told you that I didn't want to be a stand-in until you find something better. I told you I want you to be happy."

"You're giving me evidence and wanting me to draw a conclusion…I don't want to have to come to a conclusion. I want to know, from you, so there's no room for misinterpretation."

"I didn't give you evidence. I gave you proof. There's a difference."

"You want a relationship?"

"Yes," he answered immediately.

"With me?"

"Yea," he answered like the question was stupid.

"I want that, too," she replied.

"That still doesn't fix the problem. You're just giving up on a family like it suddenly doesn't matter?"

"Oh, god, don't worry about that. I quit taking the pill two months ago," she teased. He tilted his head and looked at her with one of the blankest expressions she'd ever seen on his face. "That was a joke," she assured. "I would never deceive you like that."

"Or you were testing my reaction while avoiding the question," he hypothesized.

"Or…I was joking."

"Not that I'd ever run tests to try to get someone's unfiltered reaction…," he baited. She didn't answer, so he asked more seriously, "You still didn't answer my question. You're just forgetting about all of that? All of that stuff you wanted so badly a few months ago?"

She fidgeted a little as she thought, and then looked up guardedly, "If a person is in a relationship, decisions about things like that can't just be made by that individual…those decisions are made by couples. And we'll probably need to figure out how to have discussions about important things without schemes and tests."

"Then we're going to fail. I don't think I can give up scheming and testing."

"Are you willing to try to merge scheming and testing with actual conversation?"

He nodded after a moment and said, "I could try. But you're going to have to show up for those conversations too. And have them…with me."

"I know that. Why don't we try out this relationship for a while? If we can't figure it out…," she began, letting her words hang in the air.

Exchanging slightly worried looks about a future that had more possibility, but also greater potential for catastrophe, they knew that neither of them could retreat and pretend it was meaningless anymore. There was no going back, and that made it more beautiful and more dangerous. Self-protection would have to be sacrificed to make progress. He could see her actively gathering courage, and she said, "Let's not damn this before we even try. Is it really that much different than what we've had for the last few months?"

It was different. It was worlds different, a fact that both knew but neither said. They leaned toward each other as the potential of the moment, even of the future, created a gravity between them that they had to obey. Their lips began to affectionately graze as they reached for each other and then the sound of a car's tires splitting the water that pooled on the road behind them served as interruption. After the car had passed them, Cuddy didn't pull away, but slipped next to him, fitting against his side so he had no choice but to keep his arm around her as his hand rested on her hip.

Their confessions had been heard and the agreement between them had gone from an arrangement to a relationship, but they were stuck in limbo as they waited for the storm to pass. They'd both considered it, finding a slightly secluded space so they could seal their commitment in more familiar ways. The slope behind the underpass was too steep and muddy, and even if they could navigate the terrain, they'd be pelted with rain and hail. There were too many cars going by, and his motorcycle didn't really offer any cover, so they waited, leaning against his bike and each other as they waited for clearer skies. They scarcely spoke, in some way grateful to have time to recover from the craziness of moments ago. It felt good to be there, together, with nowhere to run and nothing to say.

When the storm had moved on and the hot sun heated the moisture on the road into rising steam, they climbed back on his bike and continued their journey. They stopped at the next coffee shop. The moment he realized no one was waiting behind the counter, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the bathrooms. As soon as they were inside, he locked the door and she was against him. She was so wonderfully passionate it felt forceful, her mouth finding his, her hands seeking skin, her leg curling behind his calf. He could feel how much she wanted him in each of her breaths and touches and sounds.

The future was uncertain and tenuous, but at least there was the possibility of one. This relationship between them, whatever it might become, was certainly real. There were no blinders or arrangements, no pretenses of meaninglessness, and he reveled in the feeling of labeled-nothingness becoming open-somethingness.

She was, in so many ways, completely familiar. He already knew the shape of the breast in his palm and the feeling of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He already knew how she would taste. He knew the exact angle at which their bodies would join and how it would feel when her fingers would dig into him when she came in a surge of surrendering heat. Physically nothing was different. He wasn't even inside her yet and he already knew that. They knew sex together, understood the other's body, and had already discovered hidden likes and dislikes.

Just as their bodies were aligned, that second before he was ready to move inside her for what seemed like the thousandth time, he paused. It was the look she gave him that made him stall, a look that was as sexy and seductive as it was beautiful and warm. Things had changed, things that could have been lost in a sea of familiarity, and the woman balanced precariously on the edge of the sink, staring anticipatorily into his eyes, would be his even when they weren't fucking.

He was, oddly enough, somehow freer with this commitment than he had been without it. "Love you," he said with remarkably honest calm given the tension of the moment, allowing the words to arise but never making a conscious decision to speak them. He simply wasn't guarded enough to continue to choke down the sentiment. In articulating the words, there was unexpected liberation.

Before the shock even had time to become an expression on her face, he thrust into her, hearing the sharp gasp of her sudden pleasure. He couldn't allow her to simply parrot a required response, after all, an obligatory or uncertain reciprocation of love would be worse than no answer at all. He silenced her with kisses, with whispered shushes and diversion. As imperfect as it may have seemed, there was no better time or place in the world for him to make such a confession.

They didn't have long together, a fact that they were reminded of when someone dropped a mop in the hallway outside of the bathroom and startled them. There was no time to waste as they fucked each other senseless, both hoping to finish before someone started banging on the door to demand entry. They couldn't stop. The hurried pace and thrill at the threat of discovery overlaid the day's emotion and honesty, and it seemed everything felt so much more amazing. He could feel the way she came in his spine, and that electric warmth spread through every nerve in his body for a second before his own senses took over, and he could really only experience his own release in all of its unhindered intensity.

He leaned against her and the sink after he came, feeling a shakiness that threatened to unlock his elbows and knees and send him to the floor. She was still trembling against him, too. Of course it was the sex that made them feel so unsteady, they didn't have to speak to decide that was their excuse. He wanted to collapse into a bed with his girlfriend, to sleep for a few minutes until his strength returned. Almost like she was reading his thoughts, she insisted, "Take me home."

Her words sounded so good, especially when accompanied by that smile, and the excitement of it all, of her and of their new path, gave him some of his energy back. As they left the bathroom afterwards, Cuddy went to the counter and waited in the line that had formed while they were otherwise occupied. "I thought you wanted to go home?" House asked, uncertain as to why they were in line.

"Bathrooms are for patrons only," she read, pointing to a sign.

He whispered, "I'm pretty sure sex in the bathroom is against the rules, with or without purchase. Do you think they're going to chase us down in the parking lot and demand that we get a latte?"

"It's clearly posted," she argued as she gazed ahead.

"Is there a minimum dollar amount you have to spend? If you just needed to pee, I'd think buying a cup of coffee would be enough, but what's the price to rent the room for sex? Do we have to pay per person, or are there different rates for different sex acts?" he kept wondering as he watched her squirm. "Maybe they should post the fees so we know what's actually required."

"Whatever you think is fair," she answered just to silence him. That man could take her from a place of ecstasy to irritation and vice versa with unbelievable speed.

As he stepped up the counter, he announced, "I'll take a dozen bagels, all of those donuts you have left, and a gallon of espresso."

The barista looked at the computer to enter the order and Cuddy held up a hand, "He means two large regular coffees and one donut."

"Is that all I'm worth to you?" House gasped, grinning as he sensed her irritation.

While the staff filled their order, Cuddy stepped back from him and took out her phone. House heard his own phone beep, so he checked it and saw a text from her: Since you wouldn't let me say it…

He watched as another text came through from her: I love you

Staring down at his phone for a moment, he couldn't seem to stop reading the words. The woman behind the counter coughed and said, "Seven-twenty-nine."

House pulled a wrinkled twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it over the cash register, glancing at Cuddy with a look of hesitant happiness. By the time he took his change, he seemed to find his footing again, and as soon as he did, he teased, "A date for under ten bucks. We can make this place an anniversary tradition."

House had expected her to put up a fight but she agreed, "Sounds good."

"Be careful what you agree to… because I will remember," he warned as they walked out of the store.

"The best part of the date was free," she answered. When she saw his salacious grin, she clarified, "I meant waiting out the storm together from under the bridge."

He huffed loudly, "Suuuuuure you did."