Disclaimer: I do not own the show. Othewise, I would've called this story Thunder Roadtrip and then denied I ever wrote it.

The guests were assembled, the apartment hastily decorated with flowers stolen from patients' rooms, the champagne was on ice. Chase had even obtained a quickie online license to perform wedding ceremonies in the state of New Jersey just for the occasion. Everything was in place except for one thing: The groom was nowhere to be found.

"Do you think he forgot?" Taub asked, looking at his watch.

"Highly unlikely," Foreman replied. "It's all he's been talking about all day."

"I've tried his cell several times, no answer," Wilson said, frowning. "I've heard of grooms getting cold feet on their wedding day, but not when it's a marriage of convenience…and not when the whole thing was his brilliant idea to begin with."

"Well, he's got to show up eventually, right?" Chase said. "We're in his apartment."

Dominika looked around the room in dismay. "And where is Doctor Mrs. Cuddy?"

######

Several hours earlier, Cuddy and House were alone in the hospital chapel (House had sent Dominika off to steal more flowers). House was whining, because Cuddy had just told him that he couldn't use the chapel for his sham of a marriage.

"But the invitations have already been handed out," he moaned.

"Not my problem," she said.

"But where am I supposed to have it?"

"I dunno. Your apartment?"

"It's too small. There won't be room for us to have our first dance of the Kalinka as man and wife."

"Well, I'll help with the crowd control: I'm not coming," Cuddy said.

"What? You said you would."

"I changed my mind."

"Why?" House gave her a knowing look. "Overcome with jealousy?"

"Oh yes, House. That's it. You two are living the dream."

"Then what?"

"I just don't want to enable the crazy," Cuddy said.

"It's not crazy. It's a perfectly logical exchange of services. I give her a green card. She gives me all the sex—and ironing—a man could possibly want."

"God bless America," Cuddy said, turning to leave.

"You're just upset because my fake marriage is going to last longer and be more mutually satisfying than any of your real relationships," House said.

"Screw you," Cuddy said, turning back, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Screw you, too," House said. "Oh wait, already did!"

And with that, Cuddy did something she had never done in her entire life. She reared back and went to slap House across the face. But he caught her hand, just inches away from his cheek.

"Uh-uh-uh, Cuddy," he said smugly. "Violence never solved anything."

He let go of her hand and she turned away, blinking back tears. "Go fuck yourself," she said, leaving.

"Gladly," he muttered back. Then, his voice booming, he yelled into the empty chapel: "Praise the lord, she's gone!"

######

She was so eager to get the hell out of the hospital, she left her office without her briefcase, which contained her cell phone. And, of course, her car decided that tonight was the perfect night to break down on her.

"Could this day get any worse?" she said out loud.

There was a gas station with a pay phone about 2 miles up the road. She had no choice but to hoof it.

Naturally, she was wearing her most uncomfortable shoes—a pair of red Fendi stilettos. Plus, it was cold out and she didn't have a coat.

She almost had to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. Somewhere, in less than an hour, her ex boyfriend—that little piece of shit—was going to marry a Russian whore and she was staggering down Princeton Blvd in heels, freezing and stranded and alone.

Just as she was having this thought, a motorcycle slowed down and came to a stop.

Yes, the day could get worse. It was House.

"Just because I'm marrying a hooker doesn't mean you have to try your hand at streetwalking, Cuddy," House said, as he removed his helmet.

"Go away, House," she said.

"I wouldn't necessarily call you a damsel, but you definitely do seem distressed," he said, loving this.

"I'm fine."

"Clearly you're not. I saw your car a few yards back. What happened?"

"I had a sudden urge to minimize my carbon footprint," she said sarcastically. "I broke down, obviously."

"And you didn't think to call Triple A?"

"Left my cell phone in the office."

"That's unlike you," he said.

"I've been a bit distracted lately," she said, looking at him.

He looked down.

"Want me to do the macho thing and pretend I can fix it?" he asked. "Or should we skip the theatrics of me poking around your engine and just go straight to the part where I give you a ride home?"

"Don't you have a wedding to go to?"

House glanced at his watch. It was 6:30. The wedding was supposed to start at 7 pm.

"I have plenty of time," he lied, patting the seat behind him. "Hop on."

"Ooooh no. I managed to date you for an entire year without ever getting on the back of that thing, I'm not going to start now," Cuddy said.

"So that's why you dumped me!" House joked. "Anything to avoid our little road trip!"

"Our trip to the shore," Cuddy remembered. "I promised we could take the bike."

"We were supposed to leave in a few weeks," House said quietly. "I even bought you those motorcycle boots."

"Ah yes," she said, smiling slightly. He had given her the boots at work, with a note that said: "To Lisa Cuddy, future sexy biker chick."

(After the breakup, she had pushed the boots all the way to the back of her closet. She didn't want to be reminded of any happy memories with House.)

"Okay," she said finally. "You can drive me to the gas station. I'll take it from there."

"Or, I can take you all the way home," he said firmly.

"I don't want you missing your sacred event," she said.

Any time she felt her anger at him begin to thaw, she remembered that he was marrying his whore tonight.

"If I took you to the gas station, I'd feel compelled to wait with you. Driving you home is actually faster. . ."

As he spoke, a somewhat anxious thought seemed to pop into his head. "Wait. Who's watching Rachel right now?" he said.

"She's spending the whole weekend with Aunt Julia," Cuddy said. The House of a year ago would never have asked about Rachel. So she really had changed him—a little bit at least.

"Good," he said, relieved.

His concern for Rachel softened her.

"Okay, take me home," she finally agreed, eyeing the bike nervously.

House grinned. He handed her his spare helmet, which she placed on her head. It was too big for her, it covered her eyes.

"C'mere," he said, laughing.

He tilted the helmet back so she could see, and tightened the straps at the bottom.

"Too tight?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Good. It should be tight. You look cute," he said, slapping the top of her helmet.

Then he took off his leather jacket and gave it to her. He was wearing a short sleeved red tee-shirt and nothing else.

"I can't wear that," she said. "You'll be cold."

"Yeah, you can," he said. "I insist."

He got on the bike. She put on the jacket. It was heavy and warm and smelled like House.

"Okay, get on from the left side." Her skirt, of course, was too tight. She had to hike it up a bit. "Swing your right leg over the seat—atta girl."

She tried to steady herself.

"Okay, put your hands on my waist. Tighter, Cuddy, I'm not going to break." His tee-shirt was rippling in the wind; her hands touched a bit of his bare skin. She felt an erotic charge that immediately embarrassed her.

"Now when I lean left, you lean left. When I lean right, you lean right, got it?" he said. "Your instinct is going to be to lean away from the ground, but that's not correct. Lean into the turn, okay?"

He was being patient, a good teacher.

"Okay," she said. "And my shoes?"

"Hopefully you'll still have them by the time we get there," he cracked.

He turned on the engine.

"Hang on, Cuddy," he said. "You're going to love this."

######

They arrived at her house half an hour later. Miraculously, she still had her heels. House helped her off the bike and unstrapped her helmet for her. She felt dirty and a little sticky and slightly unsteady on her feet, but strangely exhilarated.

"You did good," he said.

"My life flashed before my eyes a few times, but that was actually fun. Thank you."

She handed him back his jacket.

"You're welcome," he said, putting it back on.

"And I'm. . .sorry I tried to slap you earlier," she said, still slightly shocked at the memory. "I've never done anything like that before in my life."

"I tend to bring out the worst in people," he said.

"We tend to bring out the worst—and the best—in each other," she conceded.

It was a tiny opening. House took it.

"I miss you," he said, looking at her hopefully.

"House, don't do this."

"I miss us."

"There is no us anymore."

But she felt the same way, of course. Close to him. They fell into a pattern of intimacy of so easily. It was like . . . riding a bike.

"What I said before? About your relationships not being satisfying. That was complete bullshit," House said. "Being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I know," she said.

"So give me another chance."

"Your timing, as always, is impeccable, House. You're about to get married. You have guests waiting."

"The great thing about being me is that I genuinely don't give a crap," he said.

"That would be great," she said, meaning it. She tended to weigh the consequences of her every waking move.

"Then come away with me," he said.

"What?"

"Let's take that road trip we talked about. Right now. To the shore. It's perfect. Rachel is with Julia and I have, uh, no binding plans."

"You're crazy," she said.

"I'm serious."

"I know. That's why you're crazy."

"I deserve a second chance," he said.

"Do you?"

"No. But you always give me one anyway."

She shut her eyes for a second. She couldn't think straight. She felt like she had better equilibrium when she on that damn bike.

"I'm not going anywhere with you if you're on vicodin," she said finally.

"Vicodin?"

He reached into the jacket pocket, pulled out a bottle of pills. He dumped them out onto the sidewalk, crushed them with the heel of his motorcycle boot.

"What vicodin?"

"Very dramatic," she said.

"There are going to be some birds feeling no pain later tonight," he joked, looking up.

She laughed, shook her head.

"Look, House, I admit that part of me is tempted, but I can't just up and go to the shore with you. I have obligations."

"Like what?" he challenged. "What were you planning on doing this weekend?"

"Hospital paperwork and catching up with Mad Men on Netflix," she admitted.

He bit his lip, tried to suppress a smile.

"Sounds exciting," he said.

"Oh, it is," she laughed.

"Cuddy, we've never been alone away from the hospital. Just the two of us. Once and for all, let's see if we can make this thing work," he said.

"And what will you tell your guests when you go home?"

"I'm not going home," he said. "I have everything I need right here."

She shivered a bit—and she wasn't sure if it was because she was cold or because she was actually considering his insane proposal.

"You're cold," he said. He wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly. "Please, Cuddy," he whispered in her ear.

She had never been able to resist him. Not back at Michigan, not when she hired him, not under a pile of rubble in Trenton, and not right now.

"Okay," she said finally. "Let me get my boots."

######

By 11 pm, all the booze had been drunk and all the guests were gone, save for Wilson, Chase, and Dominika, who slumped on House's couch, vaguely watching some old black and white movie on TV. They were slightly drunk and completely puzzled.

"I guess he's really not coming," Wilson said.

"I guess not," Chase said.

"This evening was—how you say?–a big flap," Dominika said.

"Flop," Wilson corrected.

Dominika looked at him, then looked at Chase.

"Do either of you want to marry Miss Dominika?"