A/N: Again, no excuses. Just a long chapter with my gratitude and thanks for anyone still following these stories and especially, reviewing them. And for your added pleasure, it's a smut chapter. Turn up your air-conditioner, lower your thermostat, and hope you enjoy.

22.

Hope was a fleeting thing for Gregory House.

He was in possession of it while riding through the darkened streets of Princeton. But by the time he made the slow turn into the parking lot of Thirteen's apartment building, lowered the Repsol's kickstand, and gingerly swung his damaged right leg over the seat as he removed the key from the ignition, he'd convinced himself that his decision to visit her a full three nights after their originally scheduled appointment without confirming they were still on was less like romantic spontaneity and more like the Bataan death march.

Cynicism, or what House referred to as reality, came crashing down upon him as he retrieved his cane from the bike's side clips and limped up the steps to Thirteen's apartment.

Nevertheless, arriving unannounced on Thirteen's doorstep was a bold move on his part. Bold, yet for House not at all atypical. As was his wont, after events had been set in motion, he was neither willing nor able to alter his course of action, uncertainty and consequences be damned.

That he was responsible for setting in motion the main causes of Thirteen's stress the previous week did not matter . . . until now. Whether it was his over-zealous game playing, his uncalled-for sarcastic criticism, or his arguments aimed directly at Thirteen more than anyone else on his team, House supposed, even grudgingly acknowledged that at some point during the week he had almost certainly crossed a line. Oh hell, probably a lot of lines.

While he still had as his excuse the fulfillment of his promise that they keep their relationship hidden, that explanation was only part of the story. His true motivations behind his admittedly harsher treatment of her lay much deeper and arose like a specter from a place within himself that was much, much darker.

Something inside that he could neither identify nor control needed to push the envelope just a bit more to see how far he could go, how much he could get away with. House was compelled to tease Thirteen, goad her, test her, even drive her away if he could manage it.

Even worse, the whole time he was acting on impulse, House felt as if he were trapped inside a bad dream, like he was standing outside himself, watching someone else do and say the things to her that in reality he was doing and saying. It frightened him, saddened him, and made him feel out of control all at the same time.

Yet, he remained helpless to stop himself so Thirteen bore the brunt of his rash, erratic behavior.

What should have bode well for the new couple, their give and take, their mutual ability to flow together, challenge each other, and be greater as a whole both in the bedroom and in the office had had the opposite effect on him . Instead, their auspicious start set off a clarion bell within House's head and heart. The happier he felt, the more ominous the clouds of doubt that formed within his mind. Past experience had proved to him that the better the beginning, the worse the inevitable crash at the end. Hadn't the disastrous fallout from his relationship with Cuddy proven as much?

His personal history and penchant toward self-destruction worked against him, House knew, and knew it well. Whether it was his all-too-brief respite from pain after the Ketamine treatment, his doomed stint with psychotherapy or the rare upswings he had in his life, they had all had one unfortunate thing in common: complete and utter failure at the very end.

So House's arrival, three nights after originally planned might well prove to be the proverbial straw which broke the camel's back, the camel's back in this instance being Thirteen's patience and indulgence in continuing any kind of personal relationship with him. As he limped heavily up the outside steps to her building, House realized that it was completely foreseeable that this impromptu call might provoke her to quick and violent retaliation.

Yet whether Thirteen meted out a harsh scolding or, in his own projected worst case scenario, complete banishment from her arms and bed, House innately recognized a singular core principle . . . that whatever her reprisal, he would of course deserve it.

Which was the entirety of the point.

In truth, to House's mind the more severe the penalty the better. Receiving his 'just punishment' was the chief motivating factor for most of the things he did, whether he consciously realized it or not. It was why he sought out the bar fight after that final, bitter scene with Cuddy. And it was the main reason lurking behind all the crap he pulled with Thirteen the previous week, even after, or especially because, things had been going so well with her.

All this and more, so much more of his own feelings of pain and self-loathing, rolled like a groundswell upwards and through him as House stepped off the elevator and made his way to her apartment. Once there, he stood for what seemed like an eternity staring at her door.

Apprehension and anguish, his desire to stay raging against a deep-seated need to run away, and overriding everything else, thoughts of additional pain coupled with his prevailing need to know the final outcome whirled in House's head as he tentatively raised his cane to knock on Thirteen's closed door. Torn between his desire for her and moving forward in a relationship and his belief in his own inevitable heartbreak, House lifted his cane and knocked again, louder this time.

But the moment Thirteen flung wide her door and found him standing in her hallway, House discovered that the demons of his past and present were immediately put to rest. For as soon as she laid eyes on him, her lips quickly followed suit. Her spirited kiss silenced his reasoning and allayed his reservations and along with them, any false sense of control he thought he might still possess.

As he enthusiastically kissed her back, House knew that if things had been under his control and his mouth not otherwise pleasantly occupied, he probably would have done or said something to break the mood.

However, for the first time in such a very long time his utter lack of influence over events that he found himself involved in felt freeing rather than restrictive, gratifying instead of injurious.

And it was scaring the living hell out of him.

True, House would be scared even if he did hold the reins. His fears, if allowed to do so, would inflict injury upon her even as his inner voice was screaming at him to stop. With all the noise inside his head to the contrary, House, left to his own devices, would return once again to his old fallback position and make a preemptive strike that would supersede Thirteen's current actions and even his own deepest wants and desires.

While she was still reeling from whatever venom he directed at her, he would then perform his coup de grace, a deed or phrase so absolute in its malice and finality that there would be no going back, no chance at forthcoming absolution or appeasement. Indeed, there would be nothing left for him to do then but skulk away, returning inexorably to his lonely apartment and to his own tortured thoughts, that solitary place where, though miserable, House felt safe within the familiarity of his wretched , isolated shroud.

Yet much to House's surprise and frankly satisfaction, nothing of his worst fears transpired. His words were stolen away when Thirteen first kissed him, his defensive walls thrown asunder by her dexterous fingers as they removed his jacket and slid along his arms, neck and torso. As he threw his cane aside and limped over the threshold, her hands seemed to be everywhere at once, tugging him into her apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them, and pulling him closer Her nimble fingers made short work of the buttons on his shirt, only halting their frenetic pace to tear it and the t-shirt he wore layered beneath from his body.

House's own hands industriously strove to keep pace, quickly removing Thirteen's blouse and slacks. Her garments fell effortlessly to the floor, pooling around her feet as she stepped out of them, treading lightly in the 'do me' pumps he had found so irresistible several days before.

Their mouths reconnected and like binary stars, House and Thirteen orbited round each other, rolling along the walls of her apartment and into the kitchen, entwining their arms and bodies, eagerly devouring each other with their lips and tongues in kiss after breathtaking kiss. They paid no heed to either location or how much noise they were making in their anxious onslaught to renew their intimacy.

House realized any concerns about his reception after their days-long break had all been for naught. He and Remy were both fully engaged in this heated, twisted, whirling dance fueled entirely by their mutual desires and aching need. A week's worth of pent up frustration, flirtation, sexual innuendo, and intellectual fireworks suddenly spilled over, breaking over the lovers like wave after crashing wave rolling against the bow of a ship in a storm-tossed sea.

House smiled inwardly with the knowledge that it was obviously not he alone who had missed this, who had counted the hours since they last felt each other, held each other, and rocked one another to that place of shared contentment where nothing and no one in the outside world could reach or disturb.

It was more than that, more than missing the act itself. House allowed himself a slight grin in the realization that they'd simply missed each other, those fragile selves so rarely seen and thus deliberately hidden from others.

Eventually their breathless, revolving dance stopped and they came to a halt leaning against the kitchen island. At the same time, they both lifted their heads and opened their eyes. Remy smiled at him, her smile shy and hopeful. He returned her smile with one of his own, his being slightly crooked and roguish. House leaned into her again, closing his eyes as he did so. As their heated lips met, they moaned, then smiled each against the other's kiss, wondering at the miracle of synchronicity they both shared.

Standing together, they began to savor one another, their heretofore frenzied pace slowing as they clasped themselves together. Though his body had slowed and stilled, House continued to feel an internal, ceaseless spinning, his fingers still moving, his mouth tasting the warmth of her flesh, all the while his mind still spiraling with the superfluity of his thoughts.

And there above it all was House's heart. No longer chained to the earth with sorrow and regret, at this moment in time it seemed to burst forth from his chest and soar into the sky like an eagle on a current of warm air.

House let his heart take the lead, allowing the rest of his emotions as well as his body to follow. Trailing his lips and tongue from Remy's mouth along her jaw line to her neck, he tasted every inch of vanilla warm skin as if she were the most luscious of desserts. When his hands slid assuredly across her bare shoulders, collecting her bra straps in their descent, he heard her sigh in both relief and anticipation as he did so.

He opened his eyes again to see her standing naked in front of him. The glow of a nearby streetlamp streaming between the blinds of a window threw orange tiger stripes across her bare skin while her cat's eyes glowed with lust and desire.

House felt himself stiffen as he gazed at the tigress purring before him. Acting purely on instinct, he lowered his head and breathed across her nipples, raising them and sending gooseflesh along her breasts a moment before he took one in his mouth.

Thirteen inhaled sharply before sighing again, standing on tiptoe to make it easier for him to continue his remonstrations.

House echoed her sigh with one of his own. Part promise, part frustration borne of the week's longing, House's sigh was swallowed and silenced as soon as he let go of her breast and raised up to meet Remy's trembling lips. His tongue sparred for supremacy with hers just before he felt her place her hands on his shoulders and push him back against the kitchen counter.

His heart stuttered almost to a halt but began beating once more, faster and harder as Remy's lips drew away from his, immediately making their determined descent along his throat. He hummed his appreciation as she sucked at his Adam's apple, nibbled his collarbone and licked along his sternum, pausing only to jab her tongue into his navel as she slowly knelt before him.

House groaned in anticipation of what was coming. He felt her velvet fingers tickle his ribs and then move assuredly southward to his fly, fumbling momentarily with the zipper before withdrawing his already rock hard length from his jeans.

He heard her give a little gasp of excitement as the cooler air of the room on his released member sent a shiver up his spine. But that was nothing in comparison to the feeling, in the very next moment, of her warm wet mouth surrounding him and drawing him in.

He groaned again, much more loudly this time and shook his head from side to side desperately trying to refocus himself in an effort to maintain his composure and keep from ending this heady experience far too soon.

The sweetness of her mouth enveloping him, taking him in, deliberately working him made his head loll back and his eyes close. His breathing became more and more labored as with each tickling yet steady stroke of her lips and tongue she brought him closer to the edge.

Her technique was admirable, the sensations she was creating, well timed. And House was torn, torn between savoring this moment and completing it or nudging her away to gain some relief for his damaged leg that was already screaming in pain from bearing his weight for too long.

She moaned, the vibrations of the sound pulsating along his considerable length and creating such an astonishing effect that the question was decided for him. Instead of stopping her, he rolled his hips forward, pushing himself deeper into her welcoming throat. This simple action was immediately followed by another low moan on her part.

House opened his eyes, tilting his head down just as she looked up at him, her mussed hair obscuring her face. His hand shook as he tenderly brushed her hair aside, tucking it behind her ear as she so often did herself when mulling over a particularly hard diagnosis.

He still felt the old fears, the old insecurities rise up like a cobra in his chest. But he also knew somehow that if he could only see her eyes, those last vestiges of his uncertainties might be laid to rest.

As his fingers touched her, she too opened her eyes and looked up at him. Their eyes met, the sapphire with the sea. And House saw with some astonishment that hers glowed with both desire and delight. She was taking him in, stroking him, holding him, feeding him, nurturing him.

But more than that, at the same time she was nourishing herself. She was taking her pleasure by selflessly giving him the same. He could see it in the enlarged pupils of her eyes, hear it in her soft moans, feel it in the way her small hands grabbed hold of him and began pumping him.

He was undone.

He felt his heart swell as surely as his erection while faster and deeper she took him in and let him out until he could hold off no longer. He was barely able to voice, "I'm there," before his breaths turned shallow and he closed his eyes again. He threw his head back, moaning deep and loud as the familiar tightness seized him.

Like a tiger, House growled low as he came hard, his hips thrusting rapidly while Thirteen somehow miraculously continued to take in all of him. She did not pull back with his warning but instead received him completely, drinking him in as he came. Gasping and clawing at her hair, House gently pushed her back just as his leg began to shake uncontrollably and give way. His yell of ecstasy was tinged with a sharp edge of pain.

A moment later, exhaling rapidly, he fell against the counter as she, like Venus rising from the sea, raised up to stand before him. Taking her index finger and thumb, she laid them against the corners of her mouth, coquettishly wiping the last remnants of him away before licking her lips seductively.

Wordless and empty of thought, House slid along the edge of the counter landing on the floor with a resounding thump.

Remy stood over him, silently waiting for him to catch his breath. As he opened his eyes, he saw her fingers like plant tendrils reaching for the sun, extending toward his face.

She lightly brushed his cheek as she whispered, "C'mon," offering her arm as a support to help him up off the floor.

House shook his head. "I need a minute," he said still trying to catch his breath. "You go on ahead. I'll meet you in the bedroom where I'll show you I know how to return a favor."

She breathed out a quiet chuckle before kneeling down to kiss him on the temple. Smiling, she said, "Believe me the pleasure was all mine." She tilted her head. "But I won't discourage you if you want to try and get even. I know how competitive you are."

House looked up at her and returned her smile. "I love this angle," he said as he kissed her thigh. "I could start reciprocating right now if you like."

She laughed out loud when he wiggled his eyebrows. "No, you're right. I have a feeling that this one-upmanship might get a little intense. So let's move this party into my bedroom. There's less things to break in there."

House nodded. "Take my backpack with you. There's some meds for me and a little something for you too in the front pocket. Put it on and we'll see if we don't both get inspired."

While enjoying their seductive repartee, Thirteen innately understood that House wanted to save himself the embarrassment of her seeing him struggle to rise. Wordlessly she took up the backpack and handed him his cane.

"Sure?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'll be fine. I am fine."

Remy licked her lips once more. "Yes," she said. "You most certainly are. You are SO fine." And with that, she turned slowly and sauntered down the passageway to her bedroom, allowing her hips to sway in time to the rhythm of her heart.

House watched the pendulum like movement of her hips as she walked away. The enticement gave him a second wind and he used both his good leg and his cane to leverage himself back to a standing position, pulling his boxers and jeans up as he did so.

He followed closely behind her, limping quickly down the hall with glorious and unanticipated expectation and a heart that hadn't felt this light in a long, long time.