Cuddy faced him, her arms crossed against her chest in an unconscious protection of her heart.

He's afraid. She reminded herself. Stay calm. Don't react. Try to be patient and work through the emotions.

"You know why I was trying so hard with Lucas," she finally said. "It's a perfect example of how fear can cause you to miss out on the things you want and need the most."

She'd been so afraid when she'd watched him breakdown in her office. While he was in Mayfield, she'd spent the time tormented by guilt and shame: the whys and what ifs drove her insane. Lucas had been a safe distraction.

Then House had returned. Clean and sober.

He'd been so open and honest, anxious to reclaim his life, but uncertain and unpredictable. She knew he was trying to find his way, but she didn't know where she stood. She didn't even know if she had a place.

She'd fluctuated between hoping for a new beginning for them and terrified of falling back into the same patterns. And she was terrified of being the reason he'd fail. So she'd clung to Lucas. She'd created the fantasy that he could be what she wanted. But House had done something she'd never imagined. He'd bared his heart. Right there on that dance floor.

She was being given everything she'd wanted, and she'd been too afraid to take it, to even give it a chance. Instead, she'd spent months living a delusion – a fantasy she worked hard to maintain because a life with Lucas certainly didn't feel natural – until that fateful night of the crane collapse.

House was still unpredictable and unsteady. Life with him was like being caught on a runaway mine train, the most exhilarating and frightening ride imaginable. And it felt natural. It was real. He was wrong; this holiday may be a fantasy, but it was real because they created it.

He was staring into the fire, lost in the shadows more than the flames. He wore that pensive, dispirited look that was impenetrable.

Cuddy collapsed into the chair, feeling the weight of defeat and despair.

"You're my best friend," she said.

He glanced over at her, his surprise apparent.

"When something good happens in my life, you're the one I want to tell," she said, talking more to herself than him. "When I have a problem, you're the person who brings focus and clarity. When everything gets too serious, you're the person who makes me laugh."

She shook her head as she thought about it. "I even come looking for you when my days are bad," she said. "And you're usually part of the reason for the stress."

She looked up at him, her grey eyes glassy and sad.

"I don't think you realize what you mean to me," she said.

"I know you love me." But he looked away as he said it.

"But love is not enough," she said what he was thinking.

A mournful stare was his only response.

"I don't tell you enough how important you are in my life."

"Words don't matter," he repeated what he'd told her from the start of their relationship.

"I'm not sure I've been so good at showing you, either," she said. "That's why you're so miserable."

"I'm not miserable," he said. "I'm happy."

"Oh, it's just buried so far beneath your crystal ball of doom and gloom it's unrecognizable?"

That at least produced a smirk.

"Pretty much."

"You drive me crazy."

"I know," he said with a shrug.

She studied him. Didn't he know she was scared, too? Scared of losing him, of losing what they'd built, losing this chance with the love of her life.

Cuddy sighed.

"I don't know what to do," she murmured. "I don't know how to fix this."

House understood. It was a strange phenomenon: how hope and hopelessness could co-exist.

"I'm happy and you're happy," she said. "We both want to be happy, and yet here we are."

She shook her head, disappointed at the turn of the evening. She was tired, and it was all so futile.

"Maybe you're right," she said, standing up with less energy and joy than she'd had just a short hour ago. "If everything we do to be happy is just an illusion and we can't just enjoy the happy moments when we have them, why do we even try?"

She began picking up the empty wrappers and boxes to clean the area around the tree where they'd set up Rachel's gifts.

"I still want to make this magical for Rachel," she said. "Even if happiness is just a stupid fantasy."

House watched her move, feeling a sharp jolt of pain in his chest as she wadded up the paper and trashed the debris. She was clearing the way for the fantasy, removing any indication that it was them that created the magic not a mythical figure.

He was an idiot. Here they'd created something beautiful, something that was a fantasy for the most part, but was real because they experienced it, because it was theirs. It may look like a fairy tale, a jolly elf bringing them happiness for the moment with the hope it would happen again the next year, but it wasn't magic. It wasn't even smoke and mirrors. It was real. It was real because they built the scene; they wrote the dialogue and improvised when things went awry. It was real because they controlled the illusion.

Cuddy took a bite from one of the cookies Rachel had left for Santa then turned to look at him, handing him one.

"I'm sorry I've been such a shitty girlfriend," she said.

"What?" He was clearly startled. "You've been perfect."

"You're always wondering when I'm going to leave or kick you out," she said. "You always feel like you're not quite reaching the bar. That doesn't reflect well on me."

"Of course it's all about you and your failure," he said dryly, some of the crumbs from the cookie hanging to his bottom lip. "The world revolves around you."

She reached up and removed the crumbs, her palm cupping his jaw as her thumb ran slowly along his lower lip.

"What should I do, House?" She asked.

He had no idea how to answer that. He didn't know what would calm his fears. He didn't know how to explain the past and how it affected his present. He didn't have an answer to the most important puzzle in his life and that was destroying him a little bit at a time.

"Don't give up on me." His voice was husky, almost pleading.

Never. She held him tight.

House began to sway, slowly bringing her into a dance.

"Should I put on some music?"

Maybe it would help. Maybe it would temporarily sooth his fears before they took hold and destroyed…

House was humming. She turned to look at him, but he burrowed his face in the curve of her neck, his breath at her ear.

"You're all I want for Christmas," his voice was soft, his words broken as he began to sing. "All I want my whole life through. Each day is just like Christmas…every time that I'm with you."

He leaned back to look at her. "You're all I want for Christmas…And if all my dreams come true…then I'll awake on Christmas morning and find my stocking filled with you."

She wanted to say something smart, to tease him about wanting her out of her stocking, not in them, but something in the seriousness of his expression stopped her.

House was a closeted romantic. It was easy to forget that at times. But when those blue eyes stared at her so tender and clear, when he openly gazed at her with such raw, sensual emotion, the hopeless romantic she kept hidden leaped to the surface and into his arms.

House kissed her, his lips feather light as they brushed hers.

Cuddy moaned. Their sex life was wild and passionate, an adventure in discovery and 'what can we do next'. But it was this tender, worshipful touch that always got to her. It was pure intimate eroticism.

He kissed her again and again; each pass was barely a whisper.

Cuddy tried to pull him closer. He resisted. Instead, his lips softly trailed across her jaw and down her neck, his tongue peeking out to dip into the crease at her clavicle.

He wasn't playing fair.

She shivered when his hands gripped the seam of her t-shirt and lifted it over head. His eyes trailed over the skin he'd just exposed, drinking in the site of her as he slowly removed her sports bra.

Cuddy held her breath as he slid his fingers over the slope of her breast and traced the dark circle of her areola. Her nipple - already pebbled with excitement – hardened and stretched, aching for his touch. He saw how she responded; his eyes remained steady on her breast. But his fingers slipped lower, gripping the band of her yoga pants as his other hand slipped beneath the fabric to cup her rear, gently fondling and kneading.

Her skin was sensitized. Everywhere he touched sent an electric shock through her body.

He awkwardly dropped to his knees and pulled the pants down to her ankles, urging her to step out of them. She gripped his shoulders for balance; he gripped her hips and traced the line of hair along her mound with his chin. Cuddy moaned at the feel of his scruff against her. It was coarse and rough, but his moves were soft and gentle. She felt the heat of his breath melding with the heat building between her legs and arched toward him.

House inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent of her, the fragrance of her desire. He slowly moved the tips of his fingers along her waist and down her thighs, around the back and up until he cupped her rear again; this time with both hands.

His lips brushed the flesh where her slit began. His fingers moved below her cheeks and between her thighs.

Cuddy felt his fingers at the entrance of her core at the same time his tongue pushed through her fleshy skin to find her clit.

Her legs went weak and her knees buckled. House held her firm against him as she continued to grip his shoulders for support.

"Step back," he whispered.

The words vibrated against her nub, igniting her body and leaving her gasping for air.

She felt the chair against her calves as he pushed her back against it and into a seated position.

House spread her legs, lifting them so they draped over the arms of the chair leaving her wide open and exposed to him. His hands were still on her thighs, the only movement, the slight pulsing of his thumb at the bend of her knees. His eyes locked on hers, penetrating and unyielding as they drew her in, washing her in the warmth of his want. She felt the seconds tick with the rhythm of her heart. The moist heat at her core building as the chill in the room moved along the sensitized folds.

Cuddy felt the tension in her body build and she trembled at the heightened awareness of her skin.

Finally his hands began to wander, moving up her thighs at a pace that left her wanting to scream, to beg him to touch her.

Yet his gaze never left hers.

His pupils dilated; the blue of his eyes transformed from crystalline to ocean deep. She was drowning in their depths. Pulled into the warmth of his passion and the darkness of his need, she began to writhe.

"House." She called out his name on desperate breath.

He lowered his eyes to the juncture at her thighs and touched her.

This time it was him that moaned.

She was so hot and wet. He could feel her juices flowing over his fingers as they moved around her clit, along her folds and down to her center.

It was as if the heat of molten lava pushed him to another gear. Suddenly his mouth was on her, licking and sucking, nipping on her clit and tonguing her core.

She pushed into him. He sucked hard on her clit and dipped a finger deep inside her.

Cuddy exploded, thrown into a realm of electricity and light.

House slowed his paced and reduced the intensity of his mouth.

"Oh, no," she muttered. She would have none of that.

Moving her legs from the arms of the chair, she straddled his face and pushed him back onto the floor. He devoured her as she hovered over him. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady while guiding and shifting her for the access he sought.

She was coming undone, catapulted into a place of sheer sensation.

Cuddy moved down his body in one fluid move and began tearing at his pajama bottoms. She was feral, animalistic in her need for him.

His cock sprung free of the fabric and she didn't bother to remove the bottoms. He was hard and thick, his erection dark and angry, seeking its prey. She licked him from base to tip before moving quickly to straddle him, pushing down to take him deep.

House cried out in ecstasy, overcome with pure sensation as her interior muscles gripped him hard, pulsing hot around him and demanding his release. He lost it.

He drove into her with a fierce steady rhythm that matched her own. Heat. Fire. He thought he was losing consciousness, and…

Cuddy held him tight inside her as he released, her walls gripping him until he was fully drained. And when he was almost expended, she shifted over him, fiercely claiming her own orgasm.

They lay exhausted and depleted, wrapped in each other, their arms and legs tangled together; he didn't know how long. As his body recovered and his mind returned to a more functional capacity, he felt her curl into him.

"Promise me you'll fight for us," she said, her voice heavy and raspy with emotion.

House shifted to look at her as a hand moved up his neck and along his cheek to run her fingers through his hair.

"If I forget who we are…lose track of what's important," she said. "Promise me you won't let me go. Promise me you'll fight for me."

House knew what she was asking. She'd considered his fears, understood the real dangers their complex internal issues could create. If the worst happened, it would be too easy for him to accept defeat and bury himself in misery and self-destruction.

He gave a single nod, taking her hand and kissing her palm before pulling it to his chest. He stared at her pensively.

"Don't let me screw this up," he said. "Don't let things go so far that I cause irreparable damage."

His eyes glistened as they bore into hers, grasping and pleading for a hope he could hold on to.

"Promise me you'll save me."

# # # # # # # #

Cuddy found them in the back yard making snowballs. There was already a stack on the left side near the fence. They were currently preparing the opposing arsenal.

House was limping more than usual, the cold working havoc on his leg, but he appeared to be a man on a mission. Judging by the number of snowballs, he was planning a battle of epic proportions.

"You skipped clinic duty," she called from the porch.

A snowball hit her in the chest.

They'd managed to regain the precarious balance of their relationship and had spent Christmas day continuing their plan to create magic. Rachel had been overjoyed by what Santa had brought her, but what she seemed to like the most was the two of them spending the day playing with her. Especially House, who turned every game into an experience. Cuddy had to admit, that was her favorite part too. With the exception of his reaction to the gift she'd given him the day after Christmas.

She'd told him she was having lunch with Julia. In actuality, she was supervising the move of his piano.

He'd spent the day with Wilson; she'd hired a team to help her do some shifting in the living room and another to move the piano. By the time he'd walked through the door, it was set up, tuned and ready for him to play.

He'd been stunned. At first she'd been afraid he was angry; his face had been so flushed and guarded. Then she realized he was shaken, not only by the beauty of the surprise, but the statement it made. She wanted this to be his home, their home, together. The invisible weight that had been holding them in a brand of emotional bondage, the storm cloud that always threatened unleash a tempest, disappeared. They were relaxed and free. They were happy, really happy.

At least until they returned to work. The past two days had been Hell.

"It's hard enough to maintain the respect of the board and balance the expectations of the staff. Now that we're dating, it's even more of a challenge. You know that. You could at least pretend to help."

The snowball would have hit her face had she not ducked.

Rachel started laughing.

"House!"

"Are we really going to fight about this, or are you going to come out and play with us?"

"Come play, Mommy!" Rachel clapped excitedly.

"You're such a jerk," she mumbled, knowing House would hear her.

He began to hobble toward her.

"You only had to work two days this week," she complained. "You managed to piss off the board, produce a lawsuit and destroy surgery room three."

"All in a days work."

"This isn't funny, House!" She cringed, hearing the whiny bitch coming out, but unable to suppress it.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her hand in his.

Cuddy sighed. "I need your help, not your apology."

"I am helping."

"By destroying the hospital and putting my job on the line."

"Nope," he grinned. "By doing this."

And he pulled her into the snow.

Cuddy screamed. House laughed. Rachel came running, giggling, ready to join the wrestling match.

It didn't last long. It quickly turned into the snowball fight he'd been planning, a battle that left them coated in white.

"Hold a carrot in your mouth and you'd be a snow man," she teased.

"Hold a carrot between your legs and you'd be my..."

The snowball she hurled hit him right in the mouth.

Rachel cheered. House spit out a mouthful of snow and Cuddy let out a husky laugh.

"Come on, Rachel. Time to go in," Cuddy said. "We need to get these wet clothes off and get warm."

"I'll join you in a hot shower," House suggested, his grin telling her he was wanting much more than a shower.

"There's no time. We have to plan dinner."

"Dinner is ready. We just have to serve it," he said.

Cuddy turned to him, surprised. Surely he hadn't anticipated her reaction and planned it as penance for his misdeeds at work.

"What's the occasion?"

"The last supper," he said.

"What?" She puzzled. She had no idea what he was suggesting.

"Your mother is coming tomorrow."

"What?" She shrieked.

"Not only that. She invited my mother."

"What?"

"Do you have wax build-up? Or did the snowballs damage your hearing?"

"What is she thinking?" She was clearly horrified.

House walked with her to the back door and into the mud room. Rachel had already removed her jacket and boots and disappeared into the kitchen.

"She's thinking you banned Hanukkah and outlawed Christmas," he said. "Now she's ready for a showdown at high noon and she's bringing my mother for a six shooter."

"You seem remarkably calm."

House pushed her against the door and trapped her between his arms. "I told her to bring her Mexican fling since my mom is bringing a date."

"What?"

"I think it's my biological dad."

"What?"

He unzipped her jacket.

"And Julia's bringing the brats."

"What?"

"So I invited Wilson and Sam."

"What?"

House felt like laughing at her reaction. He'd had a moment of panic himself when Arlene had called, but it had quickly passed. They'd created the perfect holiday; they were building a life together. They couldn't escape the family freak show forever. But he'd be damned if it was going to mess with his happiness. He was going to control the situation in his own way: managed chaos.

Cuddy stared at him in shocked disbelief. He pushed his hips against hers and cupped her breast as he smiled against her lips.

"I'm going to fondle while you process."

"This can't be happening."

"Join me in the shower and I"ll show you that it can."

"House!" she glared at him. "The reign of terror is coming down on our home and all you can think about is sex?"

He gave her a genuine smile.

"Happy New Year."

The End

A/N:

In my world, this sets the stage for them to better handle Cuddy's illness. No Break-up and many more holidays to share. :-)

Thank you for reading, and Happy New Year.