Hi everyone!

before I start explaining what this story is about, I first need to say that THIS ONE SHOT IS DEDICATED TO MY CRAZY, NAGGING FRIEND, oc7ober, whose birthday is TODAY!

so: "wszystkiego najlepszego z okazji urodzin, kochana!"

Like always, I've been doing things at the last minute so I actually started writing this just today (and I must confess I was scared shitless I wouldn't be able to finish it on time, btw…) as a result, I don't know if it's going to be worth the effort but I sure know I would have hated myself if the day had ended and I had nothing to post.

Anyway, I hope you'll like this story.

I was not supposed to write it now. I've mentioned the idea for it some time ago but it was not actually part of my plans to write it immediately. But then, the gracious Trisha, another beautiful friend, contacted me and asked me if I wanted to write something for Zosia (the birthday girl) that she could maybe illustrate (yes because Trisha is not just gracious, she's also a talented illustrator.) As it turns out, and to my deepest regret, it seems that eventually the illustration will be about something else than this one shot! ugh… but that's my fault and my fault only because as I said, I've been doing it at the last minute so it was impossible for Trisha to work on something on time. I'm sorry I screwed this up Trisha…

Anyway, I still took the offer and here it is: a one shot, for Zosia's birthday.

It's about House and Cuddy of course, and the story is set during season 7, after the break up but BEFORE "After Hours." (so to be clear: House did NOT perform self surgey on his leg and above all, he did NOT run his car into Cuddy's house… and, conveniently, he never married Dominika either. duh.)

"Bombshells" happened though, as well as (sorry, but it's necessary for the story) "Out Of The Chute." So yes, House did have his hooker debauchery. Actually, it's somehow the pretext for this one shot…

I'll let you find out how and why…

** SWEET SURRENDER **

They were always going to get back together.

There was no point in trying to deny such evidence. You don't escape a fate that's inescapable. Breaking up with him was not a mistake though. At least, that's what she'd told herself every day and night to resist the urge of running back to him she felt burning in her guts; or to be able to endure the awful, degrading malice of his barbs. And his unbearable, provokingly depraved behaviors.

But, as cruel as it felt, and despite the fact that it should have helped her forget him, she'd kept crying, for weeks, even months. She'd cried a river of tears because of him, until she finally had the courage to admit that, if it lasted so long, if it hurt so much, if the sobs weren't even soothing, it was because she didn't just cry because of him. She cried over him.

As unfilled and miserable as he'd made her feel at times, as convinced as she was that she truly deserved better, it never felt worse than the void his absence had left in her life.

Once, after she'd thrown House out of her life, Rachel had had one of her nightmares and irrational panic attacks. The little girl had woken up in the middle of the night, sweaty and wheezing and, as she was trying to comfort her, gently caressing her hair and rocking her in her embrace to calm her down, she'd tried once again to tell herself that the innocent, shaky frame she was holding in her arms was the very reason why she had to break up with House. She needed to protect her daughter and for that, she needed to have a life that would be a minimum peaceful, freed from worried and organized. A combination that House would never be able to be part of. And she could almost feel reassured to have made that decision. Almost. Until her daughter, clinging to her neck had started to call out his name in between her sobs, clamoring the presence of the limping man at her sides to soothe her. It had left her totally helpless and in shock and when Rachel's terror had subsided and she'd finally been able to put her back into bed, she'd wormed her way back to her bedroom, collapsing face down into her pillow and crying like she had never cried before. The tragic irony of her life had hit her then: she had no one to comfort her or assuage her pain, because the one person in front of which she'd ever allow herself to be weak wasn't there anymore.

Weeks later, when her mother, being her usual bitchy self, had threatened to sue her hospital and put her job, and his, at risk, only to draw attention and force the two of them to finally sit together in the same room, she realized she really needed him in her life. She was tired of pretending she was strong enough to get over him because she just wasn't.

So she'd swallowed back her pride and she'd come to him. She was riddled with guilt, confused and still uncertain of her choice, but she knew she wanted him back. It was insane, ridiculous even, considering how stubbornly adamant she'd been about not wanting him in her life anymore, but she didn't care. Standing there at his doorsill, she'd stared at him expectantly, with beseeching eyes, sorry eyes, challenging eyes, and she'd waited in silence.

House was petrified. Kiss her, hold her, have sex with her? Yes, he wanted that. It hurt like hell just to think he would never be able to do that again but, as much as he did crave it, he was willing to detox from that addiction more than anything rather than risking a relapse and then overdose on pain again if she were to dump him a second time. He'd caved though because he was fragile and needy like that and she was all he ever wanted in his life. Saying 'no' was unconceivable, even though saying 'yes' was completely unwholesome and felt surreal in more than one way.

They reunited that night, the momentum of their primal desire for each other washing away every doubt and fear for a few hours.

Afterward, House forced himself not to expect anything. He'd taken what she'd come to give him but he forcefully shut down every bit of hope he had that it was not just a meaningless interlude she would soon ask him to forget. Except Cuddy didn't want him to forget. It took her a wealth of tenderness and patience to crawl her way back into his life and reassure him enough to start daring to have faith again. Things were different, undeniably, but every day was another victory over awkwardness. She didn't ask him anything. She didn't demand. Yet, for her, he signed himself into a rehab program and started detoxing again. She gave him all the support and love she could offer and one step after the other, he became clean again.

Rachel was happy. Wilson was happy. House's team was… less tense. She was happy. Not really like she used to be the first time, when they were just carefree, silly lovers and being together felt like floating in an almost delusional bubble of elated bliss but still, happy. This time around, she knew what to expect. She knew what she would get and what she wouldn't. There were days though, when she would remember she had once demanded him to be everything she perfectly knew he would never be and it would tug at her heartstrings. Especially when she was lying next to him, after they made love, and he would stare at her, sorrow clouding his beautiful eyes, while his fingertips absentmindedly caressed her skin with a touch so light and delicate, it almost felt like he thought he didn't deserve to.

She'd made the right choice and she didn't regret it. Each time she was snuggled up in his arms, she knew it was exactly where she wanted to be. She wished he would feel like her and be as sure of it as she was but, something in his reluctance to completely let go told her he was not ready to believe it was real or that she'd given him another chance.

Cuddy was aware that during the months when they'd been apart, they'd both done things they were not proud of but those grey areas, or touchy subjects neither of them dared to evoke had been looming over them for too long and somehow, she knew that time had come to clear the air if she ever wanted them to really start over and go somewhere.

# # # # # #

She's come to see him tonight with the firm intention to do exactly that. Rachel is at her mother's and House is in a good mood, having cured his patient earlier that day. She knocks and he opens the door for her, his eyes immediately searching in her gaze for proof that everything is fine. She hates when he does that but she can't resign herself to blame him because she knows what he's thinking of every time she shows up at his doorstep like that. It doesn't seem to change anything that she told him she would come, there's still this unconscious shadow of fear passing through his eyes when he sees her there so she instantly smiles an unreal, wide smile to reassure him before stepping inside.

He looks at her and smiles back, sheepishly, and she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him. It seems to unwind him a little. He kisses her back, his arms wrapping around her petite frame and pulling her into a tight embrace. When they break away from their kiss, she looks up at him fondly and takes his hand in hers, guiding him towards the bedroom.

"Hey! I made dinner!" He protests, however following after her.

"I'm not hungry." She says, dismissively. "Or more precisely, I am, but not for food."

She enters the bedroom, and she goes straight to the bed, where she sits, without taking her coat off. He stands at the doorframe and watches her for a little while before entering as well. She puts out her hand and motions him to come next to her. He approaches and sits beside her, hesitant.

"Is there a problem?" He asks worriedly, shortly after.

"A problem? No, why?" She tries to sound as casual as she can.

"Cuddy," he turns his head to the side to look at her with eyes that say 'don't try to fool me,' and takes a deep breath. "I know that having sex is part of a relationship, and I know that it certainly is a significant part of ours, but-"

"We need to talk." She says, looking him straight in the eyes to make sure he won't get the wrong feeling about what she means.

Which of course he does. The second after, his mouth drops open in dread and he gets up, taking a few steps away from the bed. There're no words to describe how much pain she feels when she sees sadness spreading through his face, as he stands in front of her almost resignedly. She bits her lips and averts her gaze just for a split second, enough to gather some courage and then she looks at him again.

"House," she says with her softest voice, "I'm not breaking up with you. Please," she reaches for him, holding out her hand. "I just… I just wanna talk to you."

He narrows his eyes at her, looking dubious and unsure and he comes close to her again. As soon as he's near her, she grabs his hands and pulls him towards her. He sits down again and she shifts on the mattress to face him. Gently, she raises her palm to his face to cradle his cheek.

"I love you." she says.

His eyes are like two giant sapphires fixated upon her. She can feel him clenching his jaw under her touch.

"But?"

She sighs.

"There's no but. House, I came back to you because I wanted to. You've taken me back and…" she looks down at her feet and a light shiver descends along her spine, "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't."

"What is this about?" he asks in a very low voice, barely above a whisper.

She gulps and takes a long shuddering breath.

"I think you still resent me from leaving you…"

"What are you talking about?" he looks completely lost and taken aback.

"When I left you, you spent days in that hotel and-"

"What? Wait! Are you going to bring that up? Really?" His eyes widen in bafflement and all of a sudden, his voice takes an angry edge.

'That's ok' she inwardly tells herself, exhaling slowly. As much as she hates just the mere idea of picturing that sickening debauchery of his, she needs to know. She needs to understand. Something inside her tells her she will never be able to give him what he wants, bring him enough reassurance, as she thinks he needs, if she doesn't know why.

"All those… hookers you slept with," she says, feeling the uneasiness weigh on her. "They… you…" A lump forms in the back of her throat and she finds herself unable to finish her sentence.

"Ha!" he puffs, a cynical smirk contorting his features, "You know, we should have a 'Friends' marathon some day, I'm sure it'd help you understand the concept of 'we were on a break!'"

"Don't you dare tell me it was okay to… to fuck all those slutty whores, even though we were not together anymore!"

Her tone, violent and icily cold, feels like a slap in his face. It surprised even her that she could spit those words with so much anger. He stares at her in mute shock and she covers her mouth with her hand. After a silence that feels like an eternity, House looks down at his feet and sighs heavily.

"So, you're not breaking up with me but you think telling me how much of a godawful bastard I am is gonna help me feel good?" he asks her bitterly.

She bites her lower lips and tears start welling up in her eyes.

"How do you think I felt knowing what you were doing with those…," she makes a disgusted grimace and closes her eyes for a second, "women?"

He shakes his head and stares at her in complete dismay.

"How do you think I felt when you left me?" he retorts, tit for tat.

"I don't know." she answers without missing a beat, raising her chin up, "That's the problem. I don't know how you felt. I wish you'd have come to me-"

"You'd just broken up with me!" he exclaims, "I'd done everything I could, for you, and it still wasn't enough."

"So instead, you thought having sex with dozens of hookers a day was a better solution?"

"I didn't see that as a solution." he says, his head hanging low. "It's not like you'd left me much of a choice."

"But why? Why did you have to do that?"

Her question takes him off guard and he stares at her quizzically for some long, timeless seconds.

"Tell me." she whispers in a pleading voice.

"No." he refutes, "You don't want to know."

"You're right. Maybe I don't want to know, but what if I needed to know?"

His gaze is interrogative and filled with puzzlement.

"You don't. You don't want to know and you don't need to know."

"Did you do it for revenge?" she insists, "Was it your way of getting back at me?"

"Cuddy… don't do this." he says beseechingly.

For a moment, he looks away and stares blankly ahead, sadness clouding his face over.

"How did you treat them?" she asks, still stubbornly following her own train of thoughts.

House jerks his face back to look at her.

"Why do you need to know that now?" he says, confused.

"Because…" She takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands that are resting on his lap. She shifts to the left to come closer and slides her slender hand underneath his. His fingers clutch hers almost instinctively and then he relaxes his grab and moves his hand away from hers. "I don't think you really wanted to have sex with those hookers, I think you only wanted to hurt me." She starts, hesitantly.

"You're wrong. I wanted to have sex with them." he snaps angrily. "Again and again. Day and night. There were not enough of them to satisfy that need."

She feels instantly queasy and shakes her head to chase the horrible images from her mind. House is looking at her, provokingly, and she feels she has no other choice but to do what she's about to do now.

Slowly she buttons down her coat and takes it off. House doesn't react at first, so she gets up and takes off her jeans, then her cardigan. Finally realizing what's happening, House tilts his head to the side and looks at her, intrigued, but without saying a word.

When she stands in front of him in her underwear, Cuddy leans down and takes something inside her coat's pocket: two silky scarves. She hands them over to House but he doesn't take them.

"Show me." she says, her hand still holding the scarves in his direction.

"Excuse me?"

"Tie me up and show me how you fucked those girls."

His eyes widen in amazement.

"Are you having a seizure or something?" he asks, appalled.

"No. But you don't want to tell me why you slept with them so… show me."

"No."

"You think I can't handle it?" she says challengingly.

He puffs.

"Cuddy, stop! This is sick and it's going to end badly. Trust me, you don't want this."

She takes a deep breath and she approaches him, forcing him to make room for her between his legs. Once nestled there, she puts the scarves inside his hands and wraps her arms around his neck. She's shivering, but not because she's standing half naked in front of him.

"House, it happened. There's nothing I can do to change that. And there's nothing you can do to change that either." she tells him softly, with a slight wobbling voice. "But every day I'm thinking about it and I know you do too. What happened after we broke up is fucking us up now and I don't want that. I need to know how it feels, because I need to know how you feel about me. I need to know what it is they gave you that I could not give you. I know it was revenge and-"

"It was not." He whispers.

"Then show me what it was so I can be with you again wholly; not just that haunting image of me leaving you that is rooted inside your mind!"

He sets his lips and looks up at her with sad eyes, then down at his hands where she's put the silky scarves. He knows he's going to cave. It's a terrible, terrible mistake but she leaves him no choice. And if he does what she asks, what is going to happen? If he treats her like he'd treat one of his faceless hookers, what kind of good can it do to them?

"I didn't do that for revenge." he denies once more, thinking without much hope that maybe, it will make her change her mind.

She doesn't answer. Instead, she takes a step back, leaving the space between his legs, and then she brushes past him and lies on the bed behind him. She stretches her arms above her head and she looks at him, a bit uncertain, but still resolutely willing to surrender to him.

House swallows back the lump in his throat and gets up. He'd do everything for that woman. Everything. He wishes things were simpler and she could just see it. He wishes he weren't so scared of losing her again and could just tell her that. But he can't. Since the moment when she came back in his life, he'd been living every minute like it was the last.

All the hookers he fucked meant absolutely nothing to him. He didn't do that to punish her for breaking up with him. He did that to punish himself, for being a failure incapable of holding her back. When she left, it ripped his heart apart. It felt as if the whole world was collapsing into broken pieces around him. The tenderness, the gentle caresses and the love she'd given him suddenly had no meaning anymore. And he hated himself beyond reason to have been weak enough to believe it had. When he thought back of all the times when he'd hold her in his arms, he could feel the rush of pleasure in his veins. It tasted like happiness. Because it meant something. Making love, having sex, when he was with her, it really did. And then when she left, it hurt him like hell to relive those moments. He was scared to death that it would be like that forever and that every body he would hold from then on would remind him of her. And he couldn't endure that pain.

So he fucked hookers, yeah he did, dozens of stupid whores who he didn't in the least bit feel attracted to; to erase her image from his mind. To turn something that she had made him believe could be an act of love into something disgusting and brutal. Demeaning and emotionless. He didn't want to love anymore. He didn't think he would be capable of feeling that for anyone anyway. If it wasn't her, he had no reason to try. All the hookers, they only served as a way to detox him, from her haunting image and the illusion that she'd once given him that he could feel happiness.

And now, she's lying on his bed, scantily clad, and staring at him, waiting for him to show her that. How is he ever going to be able to convey such fucked-up feelings to her? How is that supposed to work?

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asks her one last time.

She bites her lips and she silently nods her approval. He sighs and gives up. Without a word he ties her wrists together with one scarf then uses the second one to tie her up to the headboard. Her breathing speeds up as she watches him take his clothes off next.

"Are you going to do naughty things to me?" she tells him, a bit clumsily, not really knowing what to say at this point; or even if she should say something.

"Don't talk!" he cuts her off, abruptly.

For a second she seems to hesitate whether or not it's a game and then, unfortunately, opts for the wrong option, teasing him again.

"Ooh, are we in a bad mood?"

"I said SHUT. UP!"

What she needs to understand right away is that it's not going to be a game. Fucking hookers never had anything to do with fun. It was a struggle, a merciless battle where he was the one fighting; against memories of her that he was too broken to relive without feeling torn apart. No, fucking hookers was not about her. It was not about trying to recreate the illusion of her body inside his arms. If anything, fucking hookers was the exact opposite of that, because it had everything to do with what was not her. Not her face, not her voice, not her body, not her lips. NOT her. It was about forgetting how it felt to be with her and losing himself into the rawness of something soulless.

Cuddy takes in a sharp breath, and gulps. He closes his eyes not to see her already visible uneasiness and find the strength to carry on. He doesn't want to hurt her. He doesn't want to make her live that because it's degrading, emotionless and empty and that's not what he wants to give her. But, maybe she's right. Maybe if she can see everything that having sex with hookers was not, she will then understand everything that having sex with her is. Maybe she needs that to understand what she is and will always be for him: the only one capable of giving him what he longs for. Love.

House gets on the bed where she's lying and from then on, he forces himself not to think. Unceremoniously, without a warning, he hooks the waistband of her panties and tears them in two. She gasps and he spreads her legs open before positioning himself on top of her. No foreplay, no tender gesture to warm her up, nothing. He doesn't even know how he's been able to have a hard-on, given that this situation is anything but exciting for him in that particular circumstance but he's hard enough to stab into her roughly and push himself deep into her core in one thrust.

He knows he wouldn't care if she were a hooker, but she winces and he finds himself incapable of moving again until he can at least feel she's accommodated to his length. He hates that. Hates the feeling, and the images it brings up in his mind; of him ramming, impassive and glacial, into bodies he despised.

From then on begins the cold, dispassionate struggle between his body and hers. He doesn't caress her, he kneads her flesh ruthlessly. She writhes underneath him and he keeps thrusting inside her, unemotional and indifferent. He's hovering over her, his strapping shoulders covering her frail body and he looks down at her, oblivious of the rule he knew he should follow: not care. She locks eyes with him trying to create a connection but that, is exactly what he's never done with them. Look them in the eyes. Cuddy's gaze is an open door to her soul and for a brief second, he can see the pain passing through her steel-grey eyes and it feels like an arrow just pierced right through his chest. He instantly closes his eyes not to see her.

'She asked you to, she asked you to,' he repeats to himself, as he keeps shoving inside her with a rhythm full of contained rage.

"Look at me." she pleads, panting.

"No." he answers, harshly.

He can hear her puff her frustration but he keeps fucking her until she starts moaning, somehow lustfully, and the sound, so familiar to his ears is awfully disturbing for him. He doesn't want her to take pleasure in this. He opens his eyes and glares at her. She stops instantly and stretches her neck to come closer to his face.

"Kiss me." she asks, her eyes watery.

"No!" he repeats again. "No kiss."

She contorts her hands and twists her wrists, tugging at the scarf that ties her to the bed and keeps her immobile underneath him.

"I want to touch you." she says.

"You can't."

She bites her lips and he can see something change in her gaze, as if she finally understood the absolute lack of emotion he's trying so hard not to display to show her what she asked him to. The violence of that realization hits her hard and she starts writhing about under him, wheezing with the effort.

"House, stop! Please stop! STOP!"

It takes him less than a second to do as she asked and pull out from her. He doesn't wait for her to ask to untie her wrists and free her from her bonds. As soon as she can move freely again, she sits up straight and hunches in a corner of the bed, her knees bent under her chin.

She's crying.

He stares at her, feeling miserable and awful. What has he done? Why has he listened to her? It had to end badly and he knew it. He opens his mouth to talk but she's faster than him and before he has time to react, she throws herself at him and buries her face in his chest.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." she sobs, "I know what you meant now, I know… and I'm sorry."

Seeing her apologize while he's the one who hurt her is just unbearable for him. As delicately as he can, a complete contrast to how he was just a minute before, he cradles her skull inside his hands and gently lifts her face towards him.

"No," he tells her softly, "it's me. I'm the asshole here. I've done horrible things to you and I deserved to pay for the way I'd treated you-"

She looks up at him, puzzled, and he lays soft kisses on her forehead, her eyebrows, her eyelids and her nose, then down to her lips that he claims with an infinite tenderness.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." he blows inside her mouth. "Cuddy, I'm so sorry."

She moves apart from his lips and she touches his cheek with her fingertips, brushing his stubble lightly.

"We both hurt each other." she says in a low voice.

"It wasn't about you." he suddenly says, feeling the need to explain himself about his hookers' debauchery.

"I know." she answers, looking down.

"But… you wanted me to tell you how I felt, I want to tell you now."

She raises her face towards him again and looks at him expectantly.

"When you left me," he gulps, "you broke my heart. I never thought I could be happy with someone, let it alone be you. I never thought I deserved happiness. But you…"

She bites her lips and he gently caresses her cheek.

"I fucked up." he carries on, "You should never have come to me in the first place. But you did and it changed everything. I knew it couldn't last but while it did, you made me forget how much of a jerk I was. I wanted to change. For you. That was completely stupid to think I would but I wanted to. No other woman ever made me feel that."

"I don't want you to change." she whispers.

"Yes, you do. I have to accept that and take the risk."

"What risk?"

"Stay myself and face the possibility that in one month from now, or one year from now, you'll dump me again-"

"House, no! I'm not gonna dump you!"

"You didn't seem to have a problem the first time." he tells her, more sad than resentful.

"I love you. It's not something I can choose not to feel. I tried. Believe me, I tried. But I can't. You're always gonna be the man I want and it's not gonna change. I know that now. I don't care if it's wrong, and yes, it is, but I'm not scared. I still want this. House, I still want you."

"The hookers…" he says almost inaudibly.

"Shh…"

"No, listen to me. The hookers, the drugs, it never was to hurt you. You'd left me and I felt… dead inside. For some time, I thought I would never be able to forget you, forget how it felt to be with you. Sleeping with hookers was a way to kill that. I didn't do it to replace you. I didn't do it for revenge. I did it because…"

"You needed to release your anger?"

"No, I was not angry. I was miserable. And in pain. I just wanted to stop feeling. I had sex until I was sick, because I wanted it to make me sick. I wanted to hate that. I thought… well, I never thought we'd get back together and having sex when, in my mind, it was never going to be with you again had just become something disgusting, pointless and cold."

She shivers inside his embrace and he holds her tight against him.

"I never looked them in the eyes. I never kissed them. They didn't touch me and I didn't touch them. Not in the way I used to touch you." he carries on, "Cuddy, you wanted me to show you how it felt and I did. It felt like void. And I swear there's nothing good about it."

"I know," she replies in a little, guilty voice. "I just felt it too."

He sighs and looks at her with sorry eyes.

"You asked me. I didn't want to but you asked."

"Yes. I know it sounds crazy but I really needed to know."

"And you hated it."

"Yes, but that was the point, right?"

"I don't know. What I know is that it's not the way I want to have sex with you."

"Me neither."

"I'm not saying I'm completely against a little bondage sex some other day," he adds, his voice finding its teasing edge again, "but, Cuddy, don't make me do that to you again, ok? This is fucked up and wrong."

"It is."

"We can play it rough, hard or anything you like but don't ask me to treat you like I don't care," he says, staring into her light grey eyes, "because I care. I care about you."

"I know you do."

"You're the most screwed-up woman I know but I love you." he tells her, meaningfully.

Kissing her feels like the right thing to do next. They don't need to talk about it any further. They will have plenty of times for that later. That's what he tells himself when she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back with a greedy fervor. His hands slide behind her back and he unhooks her bra, freeing her breasts and cupping them inside the palm of his hands.

He doesn't knead her flesh. He cradles her breasts gently, caressing their perfect plumpness delicately. He feels her nipples harden under his touch and he leans down to suck one of them inside his mouth. She moans and slides her fingers in his hair, while he grabs her by the hips and pulls her towards him until she falls backwards and lies on the mattress again. He lies down too and positions himself on top of her, heedful of her petite frame underneath him. His hips rubs against her hips and she opens herself for him, encircling his waist with one of her legs.

He leans down and takes her lips and with one of his hands, he lifts her butt upward to find the right angle to thrust into her. She's wet and ready for him. Slowly, he pushes himself inside her moist core and she gasps between his lips.

From then on, begins the passionate, lustful dance between his body and hers.

And for the first time in a long time, it really feels like they're making love again.

** THE END **

A/N

Thank you for stepping by and for reading this story! I hope you liked it! If you're not too much in a hurry, I'd be extremely touched to read your thoughts, so please, don't be shy and leave me a few words!

and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO oc7ober again!

"Stay hungry, stay foolish" – Steve Jobs

Have a nice day! ~ maya

PS: I want to thank aya_letty for (unconsiously) prompting me with the idea for this one shot by mentioning the hooker issue in one of her comments for another story of mine: If You Let Me, I Might Try. in the context of that other story, where there's an "arc" with a hooker-masseuse, which is quite easily resolved, she was frustrated for not knowing more about the reasons why that girl had to be there in the first place and suggested that it would have been interesting to have Cuddy confronting House about it and learn more about his motivations for having sex with hookers. I couldn't do that within the storyline of "If You Let Me, I Might Try", but it gave me the idea for this one shot!... so thank you, aya!