A/N: When I came up with the idea for this story, I thought of the lyrics to this semi-obscure Elton John song. They seemed to fit the tale very well.

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore and Fox.

Many thanks to my beta and friend NaiveEve for all her encouragement and help.

-1-

Don't judge us by distance

Or the difference between us

Try to look at it with an open mind

For where there is one room, you'll always find another

Two rooms at the end of the world.

excerpt from "Two Rooms At the End Of the World" (Elton John/Bernie Taupin)

The memory of Honolulu's north shore came hurtling at her like some crazily spinning sun, making a place inside her, filling her with its warmth. The memory was a welcome respite. She luxuriated in it, was grateful for it. Back then the needle of that old Stress-O-Meter didn't dare dip into the red.

Yes. Those were the days.

Once upon a time, during spring break from university, she took a trip to the idyllic Hawaiian island with her best friend Eileen Milfred. Sitting side by side on the beach, they dug their toes in the silken sand, seeking the cooler, moister grit beneath it as they guzzled Mai Tais and ogled surfer boys.

The day was special for reasons other than the sun, the sand, and her flirtation with Roj, the King of the Wild Surf. It was the day she decided to get her head together, forget her inexplicable lust for a certain infuriating, tall blue eyed classmate. She had never met a man who could fill her with such overwhelming rage yet make her melt her into a steaming puddle of goo in his very adept hands.

That ship sailed long ago, she told him recently. Times change; people change. Then she was Lissey. Now she was Dr. Lisa Cuddy. Then he was Greg, Gregory, G-Man. Now...he is House. Both of them are older, wiser, grayer, each with good sized chinks gouged out of their armor. Damaged. But that was okay. That was life.

Back then she was responsible for keeping up her grades, making sure the 'little things' and her sex life didn't obscure her goals for the future. She vowed never to tie herself to a man and allow the relationship to take precedence over her own wants and needs. Her mother did it. Her sister did it. Early on, Lissey promised herself to break the mold. And here she was, the mold breaker, a hospital administrator, a successful woman of the world.

Now the woman of the world was holding her stress at bay by taking slow deep breaths and keeping that memory of Honolulu as a virtual backdrop. Her plan was making sure the three meetings today (count 'em, three!) today went off without a hitch. There was: a board meeting at noon, a malpractice hearing for one of her cardiologists at two, and, at four thirty, a late tea with two of the hospital's major benefactors.

Oh, gosh, yes. It was bound to be an interesting day; the Stress-O-Meter needle was already shivering toward the scarlet.

She was putting the final touches on her report to the board when the office door banged open.

"Shit!"

Her pen fell from her fingers. With a grunt, she slapped her hands against her blotter as annoyance sent the Stress-O-Meter needle zinging as far into the red as it could go.

"Little skittish today, are we?"

She raised her eyes slightly, scowling at the rubber tip of a cane as it thwapped the front edge of her desk.

"Ho-ouse?"

Loath to lift her head, she kept her eyes fixed on that cane.. Meeting his eyes and being on the receiving end of his smirk was bound to incense her more. She let out a shaky sigh. Oh, what the hell? Her sense of calm was already destroyed. Snagging a pencil from her cup, she jabbed it at him as she shot him a leer. "Next time knock."

"What? And lose my edge, my element of surprise?" He clicked his tongue, quirked a brow. "No can do. Besides, who knows what sort of fiendishly naughty position I might find you in-"

"House."

"-with one of your swarthy boy toys."

"I'm extremely busy." She massaged her temple with two fingers. "What do you want?"

"I need next week off." He leaned both hands on the head of his cane.

"That's a good one. Ask me again in about six months." The cardiologist's legal file lay open by her hand. She made a great show of skimming through the facts, although she was pretty sure could recite them in her sleep.

"No can do."

"Stop saying that." She slapped the file closed.

"I need nextweek off."

"How many Vicodin did you take today?"

"I need the time, Cuddy." His smirk had drifted off into the ozone. Now he did a wardrobe change, slipping on that earnest little boy look.

Clearing her throat, she leaned forward and steepled her fingers under her chin. "Okay, I'll bite."

His eyes twinkled as his smile returned.

She thrust a finger at him. "Don't you dare."

"You're just no fun." he whined.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "Why are you giving me such short notice for this vacation? Is something wrong?"

"No."

"Then why do you need the time?"

He shrugged as he twirled his cane like a baton. "I'm getting married."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're going to have to deal with them. I can't do it for you.

Myrna carried the empty cardboard box from the kitchen into the living room and dropped it by the bookshelf.

Are you sure about this? Do you know what you're getting yourself into? I'm selfish, a bastard, I'll sit for hours, staring at the TV or at a video game or reading journals without even acknowledging you. Is that what you want?

That was okay. She simply liked the idea of him being around. His presence made her feel good, and talk for the sake of talking didn't appeal to her anyway. When they did converse, their conversations flowed naturally, easy. And if there was a subject that was off limits, she hadn't discovered it yet.

I take Vicodin. I like it. It makes my pain go away. If you think you can play the nurse card at home and wean me off my candy, forget it. I'm an old dog. New tricks don't apply to me.

She had no plans to change him. She liked him the way he was. This was something he was going to have to get through his head.

I give us a year...

Myrna had been taught patience at an early age. She was also made to believe that no one was put on this earth to entertain her. Encouraged as a child to occupy herself with books, with drawing, with...thinking, she grew to appreciate and even enjoy solitude. Myrna didn't need people. But she liked them and was surprised to discover that after six months of this odd, clandestine relationship, she loved Greg.

...two at the most if the sex stays the way it is.

She exhaled slowly, brushing back a strand of hair from her brow with her palm. The room was a mess, cartons everywhere, some half filled, some sealed, some gaping like the maws of beasts, waiting to devour her stuff.

Here's what you can expect. They'll start by calling. They'll seem nice but don't let that fool you. They're nosy and proprietary about me. They're going to push you for more information than you'll probably want to give.

She started her task before daylight. If this had been a workday, she would be just about ready for breakfast, a bath and sleep. But this was Monday morning and her shift at the hospital was Monday through Friday, 11:00 P.M to 7:00 A.M. She had tons of time to get the rest of the stuff packed or tossed away and then get some shuteye.

You can tell them to go to hell if you want. It won't bother me. But you might suffer for it later. They're a pretty catty bunch.

Her main goal was to rid herself of anything she would not miss, stuff that would have no bearing on this new life she was stumbling into: old magazines, ancient knitting projects she would never complete, hats and shoes she thought were cute when she'd purchased them but now had lost their appeal. One thing she didn't want was to clutter up Greg's apartment, a place which would soon be her home too.

Over the weekend she had driven around town in her SUV, while Greg languished in her bed, flicking the remote, downing some brews and the Chex Mix she had left for him (she hadn't wanted him tagging along, nor did he want to), stopping in supermarkets, book stores, package stores in a fairly fruitless searching for boxes. Initially she laughed about it but the search quickly became a drudge. She ended up purchasing cartons from Mailboxes, Etc.

Wilson will be your first visitor. He may drop by unannounced so be prepared. He will be pissed off because I didn't tell him about our plans sooner. Don't let him get to you.

Starting at the top shelf, she removed her books with care. One by one, she set them gently inside the box. The books were not especially sought after in the collector's market. But they were important to her. Some had been in her possession for most of her life, almost thirty years.

Her attachment to those leather and paper bound treasures was something Greg understood. He made room for them on his bookshelf without fanfare, without telling her. Okay, she thought, I can play this game too and didn't mention the empty shelves either. But she couldn't help smiling whenever she saw them. And when he saw that smile, he sniffed out a laugh, knowing he had won the round.

She was glad he was at work today. Getting anything done when he was around was like trying to shift the Taj Mahal with ice tongs. Impossible. He was impossible, absolutely no help and an extremely strong distraction-in a good way, she had to admit. He made her laugh more than anyone had ever made her laugh. Yesterday, he lazed on her living room sofa (which was put up for sale in this week's Bargain News) and leafed through one of her photo albums. As she gathered, sorted, tossed stuff and packed stuff, he would regale her with stories of his college years, the lighter side of his various relationships, throw in some snide comments about her baby pictures and give her the general lowdown on the world according to Greg.

And when she reached the point where she was her sweatiest and dustiest, when strands of her dirty blonde hair grew limp from perspiration and fell in her face, he patted the area of the sofa next to him.

"C'mere."

She gave him an incredulous look and spread out her arms. "Now?"

"Yep."

"Look at me."

"I am." He patted the sofa again.

"Let me at least shower."

"Nooo, no, no, no. Sweat is sexy."

"Weirdo."

That was when she swaggered toward him. The promise of his stubble grazing her thighs and prickling her nipples was too tempting to resist.

Now she stared at the book at her hand and at those still waiting on her shelf. She shook her head. He distracted her even when he wasn't here.

"Damn you," she whispered and placed the book in the box.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What...is a friend?"

Wilson situated himself behind House and dropped a paperback dictionary on the desk, barely missing the half eaten roast beef and horseradish sandwich by House's hand.

"Please tell me." Wilson continued. "If you need to look up the word, go right ahead. I'll wait."

Turning his head as he chewed, House raised his brows and threw Wilson a puzzled look.

"I see you're having a problem getting my gist so I'll save you the trouble." Wilson sauntered around the desk, pulled up a chair and seated himself across from House. "A friend, according to the Encarta World English Dictionary, is 'somebody emotionally close to another; somebody who has a close personal relationship of mutual affection and trust with another'." He managed a sour grin. "Sound familiar?"

House swallowed his food before guzzling his root beer. "As far as 'gists' go, I get it. And I know exactly why you're here."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

House tore a chunk from his sandwich and popped it in his mouth. "What? You didn't bring the paparazzi? Gee, I'm surprised since these tabloid reports sure travel quickly in PPTH," he mumbled through his half chewed food. "Doesn't anybody have a life anymore? You're all gossip hounds."

Setting his elbows on his desk, his chin in his hands, Wilson shook his head. "You never even told me you were dating anyone."

Peering beneath the top slice of bread, House shook his head and frowned. He scrunched the remainder of the sandwich into its wrapper.

"Is there an explanation you'd like to offer? A few words of clarification for someone who has a mild interest in your well being?" Wilson settled back into his chair and folded his arms, half expecting House to tell him to get the hell out of his office. Instead, House looked up from the remnants of his soon to be discarded sandwich and offered Wilson a resigned grin.

"Myrna Bromfeld is a nurse here."

"I know who Myrna is."

"Before she became an RN she used to work nights at the reception desk."

"I knew that too."

"If I'm boring you just yawn or something-"

"Go on. I'm listening."

"Sometimes I'd be here late or come in early and she'd be out there, reading her magazines-the trashy, gossipy ones: Us, The Star, OK." He pushed crumbs around his desk, unease playing on his features, in the hunch of his shoulders. "I wondered why a seemingly intelligent woman would bother with those rags."

"You read them too."

"Exactly!"

"So you immediately gleaned you might have found your soulmate from her choice of reading material."

"It got me interested," he said. "We talked. She was interesting. A loner. Family's in Minnesota. Just a brother and her mother."

"Actually, that sounds pretty damn boring."

"You know what?" House drummed his fingers against the desk. "You are pretty damn boring."

"Oooh, aren't we Mr-Defensive-Don't-Talk-Shit-About-My-Lady?" Wilson smirked and tapped his foot. "Now this is getting interesting."

"Fuck you."

"I've never been able to push your buttons so easily." Wilson's laughter was loud and hearty, filling up the room. "This is fun. Go on."

"No. Forget it."

Wilson hung his head, exhaled sharply, then fixed his friend with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Please." He made a rolling gesture with one hand, stifling another laugh. "Continue."

House rubbed his brow and was silent so long, Wilson figured he was done talking.

Then:

"Six months ago we started going to breakfast together a couple of times a week," he said slowly. "Pretty soon we were meeting up every day. Her shift ended at seven. I didn't have to be in until ten or ten thirty. So I'd meet her at Pascal's, which is far enough away so no one would suspect."

"Pascal's Diner is one whole town over. You did a good job."

"It's all in the planning."

"So is she as sneaky and underhanded as you?"

"Stop sounding so bitter or I won't invite you to the wedding."

Wilson clicked his tongue a couple of times and ran his hand through his hair. "I cannot believe you're doing this," he said softly, almost to himself.

"After awhile we skipped the diner and went to her place or mine. She'd cook some eggs, some pancakes. We'd watch a DVD, talk awhile. Then I'd go to work."

Wilson's brows lifted.

"But one day the movie and conversation weren't nearly as interesting as the way she was looking at me."

"I don't think I want to hear anymore."

"Okay, then." House tossed the remainder of his sandwich and its wrapper into the trashcan beneath his desk. "I'm done. You can just conjure up the rest in that libido fueled mind of yours."

"You know, you lived with Stacy for five years." Wilson's eyes narrowed. His temples throbbed as he licked his lips. His laughter was gone now, dried up like dead fish on cold sand. "Five years and you didn't so much as give her an engagement ring." He tapped the ring finger of his left hand. "But Myrna, a woman you've had breakfast dates with for the last six months, you decide to marry. Mar-ry." He leaned forward, punctuating each syllable with a thrust of his forefinger. "Doesn't she know what kind of ass you are? I can't believe you've been on your best behavior-"

"She knows everything." House said matter-of-factly. "Believe me, I've warned her."

"God help her." Wilson squeezed his eyes shut then opened them slowly, hoping to find that this had been a dream, a nightmare. "Who did the asking?"

"Hmm?"

"Did she ask you to marry her?"

"I asked her. Last week."

"Why?

House looked pensive as he sipped the dregs of his soda. "I felt like it."

"You...felt like it, like you felt like going bowling or out for Chinese food?"

"I never feel like bowling." House patted his thigh. "Bum leg messes up my form."

"You are...ridiculous!" Wilson threw his hands in the air. "At least I went through the ritual of courtship, engagement and all those normal pre-marriage rituals every time I got married."

House smirked. "That's three times for you. Three. Count 'em." House hitched forward in his seat, shaking a triumvirate of fingers into Wilson's face. "Who has the better track record here?"

"Yes, you're a babe in the woods, just starting down that nettled path of drudgery, disagreement and divorce. But...okay." Wilson threw him a defeated wave. "I get your point."

House sank back into his chair and folded his arms, grinning triumphantly. After a moment, he picked up his PSP, clicked it on and studied the screen as the music plinked and blipped.

"Is this to be a church wedding?" Wilson asked.

"Nope, Myrna's Jewish. The Justice Of The Peace at the Princeton Town Hall will be the man with the plan. 11 A.M. Saturday morning. Be there or forfeit your dance card." His thumbs danced over the game machine's buttons. "Reception to follow at Sergio's. There'll be an open bar so come by limo, taxi, hansom cab or bring your designated driver."

"When did you plan on telling me all this?"

"Oh...today, tonight...whenever."

"I might have been busy Saturday."

"Doing what? Getting your Volvo waxed, buying new boxers?" House leaned in closer to the screen. "Or is it briefs?"

Wilson whistled softly, watching the blue and yellow lights from the screen flicker across House's cheeks and brow. "How could she agree to such slapdash nuptials?"

"Hey, an offer like mine doesn't come along every day." The crackle and pops of fireworks sounded from the small but ample speakers. House's thumbs doubled their speed. "She's smart enough to realize that."

"Yeah." Wilson glowered. "Whatta catch."

"Ooooh, yesss!" House thrust a fist in the air as the game music swelled...then faded away.

"You should wait," Wilson said. "Give it a year. Live with her."

"Like you did with your three lovely brides? I mean, Jimmy, you were so incredibly careful. Such forethought went into your decisions to marry those women."

"Like you-?"

"The difference between you and me is that my sense of guilt is next to nil." House grabbed his cane from where it leaned against the side of his chair. "I've been through a relationship, which was..."

"The pinnacle and the depths," Wilson chimed in. "like all relationships,"

"But since I've never actually been married," House leaned on his cane and pushed himself to his feet. "I thought I might as well try it out."

"So it's an experiment."

"Nooo. I'm in love. Can't you tell?"

"Not really."

House beamed and headed toward the door. "Say hello to Myrna for me when you see her."

Wilson flinched as if he had been smacked with a wet washcloth. "Why would I-?"

"Because that is your plan. Go on, harangue the bride-to-be, sling all the dirt about me that's meant to be slung. In the meantime," he pulled open the door. "There are, 'ow you say, lives to save."

Wilson watched the door drift slowly shut. Maybe he wouldn't drive to Myrna's as he had planned. Maybe he would spend the hours he had freed up reading through case files and a new oncology journal that arrived today. But he was already on his feet, his hand in his pocket, jangling his car keys. In his mind he was already in the garage, in his car, his foot on the gas, winging his way to warn poor misguided Ms. Bromfeld of her impending doom.