House froze as he turned from closing the door to the exam room, his eyes meeting the startled expression on a familiar face. Silence fell over the room, neither of them moving for a long moment.

She broke the silence first, a pen scratching across the pad she had in her lap, black ink curling in stark loops over white paper. Looking up again, she held it out, nodding her head at the writing.

I didn't expect to see you here. I came because my normal doctor doesn't have hours today, and I can't trust the home pregnancy tests to be accurate. If you want to send someone else in, I can understand that.

House frowned, and shook his head, unwilling to break the habit of not speaking around her. He used the pen he had for writing on her chart to scratch a reply.

No. Too many questions that I don't care to answer.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she shook with silent laughter.

House rolled his eyes. Who's the father?

Her laughter died, her gaze dropping to her hands as she fidgeted a moment, teeth worrying her lower lip. You're the only man who's been in my bed in the last year.

House furrowed his brow, leaning on his cane for a long moment before replying to that. You're not really a prostitute, are you?

I accept money for sex. But most of my income is from other sources.

What sources? He glanced at her chart, raising an eyebrow. Doctor?

PhD. Biology. Professor, Princeton University. I don't teach as much as I did before... She gestured at her neck, the scars hidden beneath a soft brown turtleneck. You never asked, and I didn't feel the need to say anything. There were no expectations then, I still have none of you.

House scowled, the pen digging deeper into the paper as he wrote. You think you're pregnant, and yet you expect nothing from the man you think is the reason? Why?

Because that isn't how it works. Sex for money. A child is an unexpected, but potential consequence, and one which I knew better the risk of. And so I expect nothing of you, except that you are the doctor who is supposed to order the tests to see if I am indeed pregnant. Nothing more.

House stared at her, uncertain what to make of her reaction. Or his own. She let him off the hook, even though she had no doubt as to the cause of her possible pregnancy, and yet he felt cheated by that. As if he wanted to take responsibility.

I'll order the test. He paused, the pen hovering over the paper. I can bring it to you, instead of you coming back in, if you'd like. He almost scribbled out the line, his hand resting on the pad a long moment before he handed it back to her. If he took the results to her, he might be able to indulge in his new addiction. Old addiction. Non-Vicodin addiction.

She smiled, nodding. Two bills and the test results?

Deal.

He stepped out of the room a few minutes later with a tube of blood, and a troubled mind. Why did he feel the need to take responsibility for her state? Or was it for a blob of cells that could grow into a child with disturbingly familiar blue eyes?

"Where is Doctor House?" Cuddy stood in the door to the conference room, the irritation clear on her face.

"He said he had something to deal with, and he left early." Foreman shook his head slightly, a troubled expression on his face. "He's been real quiet today, after his last clinic patient. Did you try paging him?"

"He's not answering his pages right now, which is why I'm looking for him." Cuddy's frown edged from merely irritated towards a mix of anger and concern. "Did he say where he was going?"

"No. He took a patient's test results with him, though. Wouldn't say why."

Cuddy pressed her lips together a moment, and turned to go. Time to find out who the last clinic patient House had seen was.

House hesitated before knocking on her door, fingering the envelope in his hand. He had looked before sealing them in with the fifties, and that troubling sense of responsibility had surfaced again for a long moment.

She beckoned him in when she opened the door, the silence surrounding him once the door shut. It didn't feel the same anymore. Still welcome, still wanted, and yet a trap more than an escape. How could he want to walk into a trap, even one of his own making? His and hers.

He set the envelope on the table beside the door, and when she reached out to remove his jacket, he caught her hands, not quite looking at her. Even if she didn't sense it, something had changed. A change he didn't know whether to welcome or curse. Or changes, he supposed. He knew her name, beyond her street name. If it really was a street name. wHe knew she wouldn't be alone in the house in nine months. He knew the silence would be broken, his addiction changed, perhaps taken away.

She tugged her hands free of his, and he felt her fingers on his cheek, focusing his attention. A small furrow appeared between her brows as she studied his face, trying to read him for a long moment before stepping back. A questioning expression came over her face, her fingers fiddling with the bottom edge of the brown turtleneck she wore.

House shook his head, hobbling over to the bed to sit on the edge, resting his cane beside him. She followed, standing in front of him with her head tilted to one side, confusion written across her face. This wasn't how it went, not in the past. But things had changed.

He rested a hand on her still flat stomach, his gaze fixed on the spot as if he could see through layers of muscle and tissue to the growing blob of flesh nestled safely inside. He looked up to meet her gaze, mouthing, "Mine." He still needed the silence, craved it more, perhaps because he knew it would end.

She nodded, one hand covering his, the other gently touching the side of his face. He let out a troubled sigh, the sound loud in the quiet of the room, and she wrapped her fingers around his hand, lifting it to her lips to kiss the palm. Kneeling, she rested her cheek against the knee of his good leg, looking up at him with a patient expression. Whatever the next move, it was up to him.

House looked down at her a long moment before nudging her away slightly, to give him room to slide down to sit beside her on the floor. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close, her head resting on his shoulder.

Here was the ultimate puzzle, to figure out what had awakened the sensations that troubled him, and why he let her get so close to him. Why he allowed the intimacy beyond just the satisfaction of physical need.

A sharp rapping on the front door jerked House out of a doze, and he winced as his leg announced he'd been too long in one position. The warmth at his side was unfamiliar, and he glanced down, remnding himself of the strangeness of this encounter with his addiction. She frowned sleepily as the knocking on the front door repeated, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.

He let her move away, reaching for his cane to struggle to his feet, waving her aside when she offered her hand to help him. She waited for him to get to his feet before leaving the room to answer the door. House followed slowly, stopping before he came into sight of the front door, listening with a frown on his face.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Doctor Murphy. Is Doctor House here?"

Cuddy.

House scowled, irritated that his boss had followed him to his addiction. Had invaded, and spoiled the silence. He limped forward, meeting Cuddy's irate gaze with a sardonic smile, and his own anger. He stepped outside, forcing Cuddy to step back, or step aside, looking back to meet green eyes shortly before the door shut. She'd leave him to handle Cuddy, and explain to her why showing up here was a Very. Bad. Idea.

He rounded on Cuddy as soon as the lock clicked into place, glaring at her. "You didn't need to follow me out here, Cuddy."

"What are you doing here, House? She's a patient!" Cuddy crossed her arms, meeting his glare with an angry glower of her own.

"Only because she couldn't get a hold of her usual doctor." House grabbed Cuddy's arm, pulling her away from the closed door, not wanting the arguement to filter inside, and disturb the quiet he had come to crave more than it already had.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here. It's dubious ethics, even for you."

"Too many questions, Cuddy. None of which I'm inclined to answer." House kept herding her back towards the driveway.

"She came in for a pregnancy test. Foreman said you had..."

"Because I said I'd bring them to her so she didn't have to come back to the clinic to pick them up." House gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, hobbling as fast as possible to Cuddy's car. "I'd tell you why, except then I'd have to kill you. Patient-doctor confidentiality."

"What is going on, House?" Cuddy wrenched her arm away from his grip, her tone demanding. "You're acting like you actually care about a patient for once."

"Maybe it's not the patient that I give a damn about." House leaned on his cane, ignoring the sweat starting to gather from fighting the pain. "I happen to enjoy the silence up here."

"You're saying you're doing this to protect your own interests? What did you do, House? Knock her up?"

"Not telling." House started to limp towards his motorcycle.

"House!"

He stopped, turning to give Cuddy another glare. "Just because you bailed me out of trouble, and saved my career doesn't mean you're entitled to dig into my personal life."

"If it could effect the hospital..."

"It doesn't." House cut her off with a snap, turning back to his motorcycle. "Unless you keep pushing to find out what's going on. Doctor Murphy happens to enjoy her privacy."

"Fine. This isn't over, House." Cuddy yanked open the driver's side door to her car. "And if she comes back to the clinic, I'm having someone else take her case."

House tightened his grip on his cane, knowing that once someone else took the case, it wouldn't be long before someone drew the connection. Which meant she couldn't come back to the clinic, or he had to tell Cuddy the truth before it got ferreted out by someone else. "Cuddy."

"What?"

"If she comes back to the clinic, and you take me off her case, someone is going to wonder why." He looked over again, his anger still bubbling near the surface, overlaid with resignation.

"Then give me a reason not to."

House sighed, glancing over Cuddy's shoulder at the closed door. "Because her child is mine."

Cuddy closed her eyes for a moment. "Why didn't you hand her chart off to someone else in the first place?"

"And explain it how?" House sat down on his motorcycle, slipping his cane into its place across his back. "That I can't take the clinic because I pay her for sex?"

"You don't have a problem with spreading rumours about other people's private lives. What makes this so different?" Cuddy shook her head. "You're not making sense, House."

"Not even to myself. Just don't pass her off to someone else if she comes back to the clinic."

"I'll think about it."