Taking a day off was boring when he had to work. Jog, shower, breakfast, clean, moving a little more of her stuff into his place, poke around (she was picking up more of his bad habits), read, get bored. Now she found herself driving to work, parking, wandering up to his office.

Nobody home, case files strewn haphazardly on every flat surface. All dull, boring, why did he have them all over the place. She gave up, he'd been wearing his lab coat again and her influence over him only extended so far. Gathering up the folders, she sat them on the couch, leafing through them in the hopes of identifying the source of his madness. There had to be a connection, didn't there?

When she woke up he was looking down at her.

"What's up, sleeping beauty?" That won him a smile, pushing the file off her lap and standing to hug him.

"Nothing at all. That's why I'm here. What are you doing with these?" Pulling away to indicate the files didn't work so well when he didn't let her go, but it made her smile more, cuddling in close.

"If I told you that you might give the game away and daddy needs a new pair of shoes."

Rolling her eyes, "I don't want to know. If you don't tell me I won't be lying when Cuddy asks what's going on."

"Such wisdom in one so young. I have trained you well."

"Give me some credit. I have learnt a few things since I stopped playing doctors and nurses with you."

"I'm sure. But your street-smart, savvy 'tude? That's all me." He twirls his cane, cocky when she's in his arms, because she's in his arms.

"Shut up, Greg. Give the files back to whoever you stole them from." She slips from his arms, sitting down and looking up at him, head cocked to the side, "I'll wait."

Their eyes clash, his questioning, hers challenging, delving through the subtext, testing resolve. She does not falter, handing the case files to him.

"I'm not seeing why I should do this yet?"

Raising her eyebrow, she lets her gaze slide down his body, "You think I can't make it worth your while?"

Smirk, "That's hardly fair."

"Life isn't fair, but it can be very fun. Why the coat?"

His irritation at her game of twenty questions starts to grow, "I'm supposed to wear the coat. Is that not enough?"

"Fine, play hard to get." She reaches out, wrapping her hand around his cane, standing, "But you know that I always get what I want."

Stepping closer, his hand slides up her back, slender arms circling him beneath the coat. She sighs softly as he traces up her spine, into her hair, gasping as his grip suddenly tightens. Middle of the day, people around, what is he doing, anybody could see them.

"House," her voice is choked, unable to choose, fear or lust, "What are you doing?"

Fist clenching, her hair pulled tighter, it hurts. If they weren't here... He's staring at her.

"What do you want?" His voice stings, rough and sharp, cutting through their games. He fills her view, her world, she snaps, unable to bear anything more.

"You."

Lips curl, mocking, relaxing his fist and pressing his lips to hers. She clings to him, tension broken, slipping her tongue into his mouth, until she remembers where they are. Backing away, calves bumping the couch, cheeks flushed.

"So I'll see you later?"

He shrugs, "Stick around if you want."

"No. I'd like too, but..." Her eyes look away and he lets her leave. She's far too professional to do anything at work. Well, anything too bad at work. At least not in an office with glass walls. Hell, she'd probably do anything he asked her to. Besides, he has charts to return.

He's home early, the lights are dim. Asleep on the couch with a book, he can't help watching her breathe, she's beautiful. His bag droops, dropping silently onto the floor, sitting beside her, she sleeps on. Slipping the paperback from her lap, he pulls her closer, causing a stir. Eyes flutter open, blinking, smiling as he lays her head down in his lap.

"Get bored waiting up for me?" A little nod, her hand slinking up to stroke his leg.

"Have fun playing your game?"

"Of course, otherwise it wouldn't be a very good game now, would it?" His fingers start to trail across her face, through her hair, teasing it out carefully. It feels good.

She's falling asleep again. Bed is only a few meters away, but he doesn't want to move at all. His leg will kill him if he sleeps here, thank god for vicodin. Her expression is angelic, hair spread out in a dark halo. What does she see in him that makes this possible. Wilson would say that she's good for him and to be thankful. He is thankful. How long will it last though? She's happy now, it's only been a few weeks, but what about in a few months, years. Will she still love him.

Shifting, her body curls, forehead pressing in against his stomach. His arm moves to her side, protective. Whatever the answer, it would be a journey they would share and for the first time in too long he felt prepared to take the first steps.

Thrusting from his mind such thoughts, he felt consciousness slip away with each brush of his fingers down her spine. She'd be there here when he woke and that was all that mattered.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading all. For now, I'm going to say that this little tale is concluded. While all your wonderful reviews and encouragement have kept me writing over the past few days, I've become more and more disenchanted with so many aspects of this story that I think it is time to put it to rest, at least for now. It's been an amazing experience in writing a very different kind of fiction, one that I will apply to future stories (which does mean that there will be future stories). With any luck, we will meet again soon.