Cuddy was giving her annual "State of the Hospital" address to the department heads.

House and Wilson were sitting next to each other in the back of the auditorium. Wilson was dutifully taking notes; House was playing Angry Birds on his iPhone.

When the talk ended, Wilson turned to House: "Lunch?"

"I'll catch up to you," House said, gesturing to Cuddy, who was gathering some papers and putting them in her briefcase.

Wilson nodded.

"Very inspiring speech," Wilson said to Cuddy on the way out.

"Thank you," Cuddy said.

"He's such a teacher's pet," House said, when the room had cleared. "I'm surprised he didn't give you an apple."

"What do you want, House?" she said, somewhat impatiently.

"We need to talk," he said.

"No, we don't."

"We kissed."

"I know. I was there. It was New Year's. That's what people do."

"The first kiss, yes," said House. "The second one, okay, I'll even give you that. But not the third kiss. That wasn't a New Year's kiss, that was a 'I want to jump your bones, House' kiss."

Cuddy sighed.

"It was a romantic setting and we did a romantic thing," she said. "I assure you, it won't happen again."

"Who said I don't want it to happen again?"

"I don't want it to happen again."

"Why not?"

"Because it was a mistake."

House fiddled with his phone.

"Well, now that we've swapped some Auld Lang spit, maybe we can at least graduate from saying hello in the halls to, I dunno, drinks? Dinner?"

Cuddy looked at him.

"We're not dating again, House."

"Fine," House said, slightly petulantly. "Just don't start getting weird, just when things were starting to get. . .unweird."

"I won't," she said.

And she collected her briefcase and left.

####

Two weeks later, House barged in on Wilson, who was in a private room with a 50ish end-stage cancer patient.

"Cuddy's being weird," House said.

"A little busy right now," Wilson said testily.

"You don't mind, right?" House said to the patient. "What would you rather hear: The insipid dronings of your moroncologist, or some juicy hospital gossip from the Bad Boy of Princeton Plainsboro?"

"I'll take the gossip," the patient said.

"I knew you were a smart woman. . ." he squinted at her chart, trying to read her name.

"Doris," the patient said.

"Doris. And just for the purposes of this conversation, Doris: Cuddy does not work here at the hospital and is definitely not the smokin' hot Dean of Medicine."

He winked.

"Got it," Doris said, winking back.

"How is she being weird?" Wilson said wearily. He was fiddling with the dosage on Doris's medication.

"She's been avoiding me."

"What's weird about that? She's been avoiding you for two years."

"She had recently stopped avoiding me, if you recall."

"Right. The letter."

"I got a love letter from her," House said to Doris.

"Also, a hate letter," Wilson pointed out.

"He's such a glass half empty kind of guy. I'm more of a glass half full guy, myself," House said to Doris.

"Me too," Doris said.

"Anyway. . .she's been going out of her way to avoid me in the hall."

"So what changed?" Wilson asked.

"We kissed," House said. "On Sanford Wells' balcony. On New Year's."

"Ohhh, how romantic," Doris said dreamily.

"It would be slightly less romantic if you knew that he also drove his car into Cuddy's house two years ago," Wilson said.

"He's not being literal," House said quickly. "Along with his inherent pessimism, Dr. Wilson is also a bit of an exaggerator."

"So I'm not actually dying of cancer?" Doris said.

House stopped, smiled at her—impressed.

"I like this one, Wilson," he said. "She's a keeper."

"Not for long," Doris said. "So you better get on with the story."

"Right . . . so I want to make something perfectly clear to you both. It wasn't like I manhandled her. I didn't take her in my arms, Rhett Butler-style, and sweep her off her feet. She kissed me. If anything, I was the Scarlett figure in our little lip lock."

"Now there's an image I won't be able to get out of my head," Wilson said.

"So what should I do?"

"Talk to her," Wilson said.

"I already did that, after the State of the H, remember?"

"Then give her her space."

"That's all I've been doing for the past year. . .I thought we were moving beyond that."

"Then talk to her."

"You're repeating yourself, Wilson. . .has he been dipping into your meds again, Doris?"

"Probably," Doris said.

"Look, you have two options: Give her her space or talk to her again," Wilson said. "Your call. Now, if you don't mind, I have some treatment options I need to go over with Doris."

House sighed loudly.

"Doris? Any actually helpful thoughts on the matter?"

"I say grab her and kiss her again," Doris said.

"Finally, some good advice," House said.

He kissed Doris on the hand and left.

######

"What's going on between you and House?" Wilson said.

He and Cuddy were sliding their trays down the line at the cafeteria.

"Ugh. Nothing. What did he say?"

"That you kissed on New Year's and that you've been ignoring him ever since," Wilson whispered.

"I haven't been ignoring him," Cuddy whispered back, somewhat defensively. "I've just been busy."

"Uh huh," Wilson said.

"It's at least partly true," Cuddy said, paying for her salad.

"Well, he's freaking out about it," Wilson said, paying for his tuna sandwich.

"Him and me both," Cuddy said, as they sat down.

"So why'd you kiss him?"

"Same reason I always kiss him," Cuddy said. "It's my curse that I always want to kiss him."

"Maybe it's a curse and a blessing."

"His Buick through my dining room says otherwise," Cuddy said.

"He's really been trying," Wilson said.

"I know he has."

"You can't keep punishing him for that forever," Wilson said.

"Says who?"

"Well, then choose. Either you're friends—or whatever it is you two are to each other—or you're not. You can't string him along like this."

"Actually," said Cuddy, biting on a piece of lettuce. "I can do whatever I want."

#####

"I'm craving a steak," Wilson said to House over the phone.

"Thanks for the update," House said.

"What do you say we go to Woodies tomorrow night? Just the two of us."

"Wilson, this is all so sudden. . .I'm not sure I'm ready for this kind of commitment."

"We can smoke cigars and drink scotch and talk about monster trucks so no one gets the wrong idea," Wilson said.

House hesitated.

"My treat," Wilson said.

"Done," House said.

"Good. Meet you there at 8. And House? It's a nice place. So try not to look like a slob."

####

House was running late, as he always was—and, of course, he hadn't bothered to dress up. He was wearing his normal uniform of a faded black graphic tee, a rumpled blue oxford (complete with a mustard stain on the collar), a beat up overcoat, and Nikes.

When he got to the restaurant, there was no sign of Wilson.

Lisa Cuddy, however, was sitting alone at a table for two, drinking a glass from a bottle of cabernet that she had already ordered.

"Let me guess," House said, limping up her table. "Meeting Wilson for dinner?"

Cuddy looked up, blanched.

"You've got to be kidding," she said. "Wilson said he was. . ."

"Craving steak?" House finished.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head.

She eyed him skeptically.

"Did you put him up to this?"

"I'm as blindsided as you are," House protested. "Do you really think I would've worn this outfit, if I knew I was meeting you. . .?"

Cuddy looked him over, gave a conciliatory shrug.

"Let's pay for this wine and get out of here," she said. "I want no part of Wilson's little intervention."

"Fine by me," House said testily, sliding into the seat across from her. "But I just drove all the way across town so I'll take some of that wine."

Cuddy rolled her eyes, then poured him a glass. She looked around impatiently for the waiter.

"Where is he?" she muttered. "He was positively looming before you showed up."

"He probably just thought you were hot," House said.

Finally, the waiter came over. He was clearly gay, thus shooting a hole in House's theory.

The waiter pulled a note out of his breast pocket with a flourish.

"Drs. House and Cuddy, I presume?" he said.

They looked up at him, surprised.

"Yes," they said cautiously.

"I have a note here, from Dr. Wilson. I'm supposed to read it to you once you've both settled in."

He cleared his throat.

"Dear House and Cuddy: I apologize for the subterfuge, but it had to be this way. You two seriously need to talk. Now Cuddy, stop playing with your Blackberry and give House a chance."

Cuddy, who had been scrolling through messages on her phone, put it down hastily.

"House, stop fidgeting, sit up, and act like a gentleman."

House, who had slid halfway down his chair like an antsy teenager, straightened his shoulders and sat up. He looked around the room suspiciously.

"I know this is tough," the waiter read. "But you two care about each other too much to not communicate. So sit, drink some wine, eat some steak, talk and—most importantly—really listen to each other. Also, House, you're buying. Love, Wilson."

The waiter took the note, folded it, and placed it on the table.

"Would you two like to order?" he said knowingly.

Cuddy looked at House, who stared back at her with those wide, expectant eyes of his.

"I'll have the petite filet," she said, sighing. "Medium rare."

####

They didn't get to the crux of things until they were onto their second bottle of wine and halfway through their entrees.

"What changed?" House asked. "Things were going so well between us."

"What do you think changed?"

"The kiss?" House asked. He really didn't get it.

"Yes, the kiss. The thing is, I wasn't supposed to kiss you that night, but I did. Next, I'll be accidentally sleeping with you. Then I'll be. . .accidentally falling in love with you again."

"What's so horrible about that?"

"It's not what I want," Cuddy said, looking him in the eyes.

"Why not?" House demanded.

"The fact that you even have to ask tells me my instincts are right," Cuddy said.

"What? Because of the car? Am I never going to stop paying for that?"

"I don't know House. What's the statute of limitations on destroying a home and giving a 3 year old nightmares?"

House looked down at the table.

"Rachel had nightmares?" he said quietly.

"Yeah, House. She did."

"Jesus," he said, almost to himself. "Is she at least okay now?"

"Yeah, she's fine. But I think you can see why I might not want to get involved with you again."

"But I would never do anything like that again," he protested.

"Really?" she said. "Because I didn't think you were capable of anything like that to begin with. Guess I was wrong."

He looked at her, almost defiantly.

"I've changed."

Cuddy nearly choked on her asparagus.

"Oh, that's rich."

"I have."

"Bullshit, House. You've said it yourself, oh, about 10 thousand times: People don't change. It's your life philosophy. You practically built a whole medical practice around it."

"There's an asterisk next to that philosophy: When you hit rock bottom, destroy the house of the love of your life, go to jail, lose all your friends, get clean, go to anger management, and start to slowly rebuild your life. . . you can change," he said. "It's a very specific set of circumstances, I grant you, but it can happen."

"I'm. . .the love of your life?"

House smiled. He was pleased that, of everything he had just said, that was one thing she had picked up on.

"Of course," he said.

"What about Stacy?"

"I loved her, too. But she didn't love me at my absolute worst. You did. . . until my absolute worst got, well, worse. Also, Stacy doesn't come complete with adorable bonus human."

Cuddy smiled, despite herself.

"I wish I could believe you, House," she said.

"You can," he said.

He reached across the table and took her hand. Much to his relief, she didn't pull it away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I know you are," she said, softening.

"No," he said. "I don't think you know just how sorry I am."

"No," she said, nodding. "I really do."

"Then I'll stay patient."

"Thank you."

"I'll wait another ten years if that's what it takes," he said.

She looked down at his hand, squeezed it a bit.

"Maybe not ten years," she said.

"God I hope not," he joked. "Have you seen my liver lately? I'm not sure how much longer it can hold out."

She laughed, shook her head.

"You're impossible," she said.

"I know," he said.

He raised his glass.

"To James Wilson: A meddler, a master manipulator, and . . . a true friend," he said.

"To Wilson," she said.

They clinked.

####

Afterwards, he walked her to her car.

"Thank you for buying me dinner," she said.

"You're welcome," he said. "I'll happily get tricked into buying you dinner anytime."

"Maybe next time, I'll buy," she said.

Next time.

"That sounds good," he said, staring at her.

It was cold and she was bundled up for the winter. He could see her breath. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was to him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Some advice I got earlier," he said truthfully.

"What kind of advice?"

"A very wise woman told me to grab you and kiss you," he said. "Although I guess I just ruined the element of surprise."

"So what's stopping you?" she said. She was a little drunk, her voice had slightly flirtateous quality to it.

"Boundaries," he said.

She gave that sexy smile of hers.

"Oh but boundaries are meant to be expanded, remember?"

"Right," he said.

He took her face in his hands and leaned down. She closed her eyes, her lips parted ever-so slightly. He was almost sick with longing for her. But he forced himself to kiss her . . . and let go.

"That was nice," she said, sighing a bit.

"Cuddy," he said. "Promise me you're not going to get weird on me again, okay?"

"I promise," she said thoughtfully.

"Good."

He opened her car door and she got in.

"Goodnight," he said.

"Goodnight House."

As he began to limp away, she rolled down the window.

"House?"

"Yeah?"

"Lunch tomorrow in the cafeteria?"

"I'd love that."