The key was keeping her in his apartment. House had pretty much established that it wasn't a hallucination at this point—Cuddy was real, she was really in his house, she had really been in his bed, and right now she was really in his shirt (and God damn it looked good on her)—but that didn't make it any less of an illusion. It seemed to him that they were both under some sort of enchanted spell—a spell where House was the man he always wanted to be and Cuddy only saw the best in him. But take one step out of that apartment—or, worse still, go back to hospital—and the spell would be broken. So his task was obvious: Keep her here. Forever.

He was thinking of ways to do just that—well, trying to, at least; he was distracted by how sexy she looked with no pants in his half-buttoned shirt—when there was a banging on the door.

"Wilson again?" Cuddy asked, furrowing her brow.

Then a somewhat familiar male voice: "House, open the damn door! House, I know you're in there!"

Lucas.

"Shit," Cuddy said, blanching.

"Think there's room in that closet for both of us?" House asked, only half kidding.

Cuddy sighed.

"We should let him in," she whispered. "He might break in otherwise. He's good at that."

"Apparently a quality you like in a man," House said. He was trying to be funny, but Cuddy was in no joking mood.

She frowned.

"How much does he know about why you left?" House asked her.

"Nothing," Cuddy said. "I just said that I was sorry and that I didn't love him and that I didn't want to marry him."

House scratched his head. The banging at the door grew more insistent.

"Go hide," he said.

"No, I should take my medicine and face him," she said. "I created this mess, I need to clean it up."

"No," House said earnestly. "It'll kill him seeing us like this. It's better if we just get rid of him. You can have the talk later."

Cuddy nodded thoughtfully. Of course, he was right.

"Okay, back to my favorite closet," she said.

"If you, uh, find any porn in there, I'm just holding it for Wilson," House said.

"Naturally," she said, with a half smile.

"Coming!" House shouted toward the door.

He went to the bathroom, quickly wet his hair and grabbed a towel.

He answered the door, rubbing his hair with the towel.

"Sorry," he said. "I was in the shower."

It was clear that Lucas hadn't gotten any sleep—he had a day's growth of beard and his eyes were bloodshot and his hair was sticking up in all sorts of gravity-defying directions. His breath smelled stale and of alcohol.

He roughly pushed himself past House and entered the living room.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

"You're going to have to be more specific," House said.

"You know who. Where's Lisa?"

"Hey, she's your fiancée, not mine," House said, feeling like a jerk.

"Ex fiancée," Lucas said. "Ex. And that can only mean one thing—that she's here."

He pressed his finger up against House's chest.

"Because you were always the one thing—the one damn thing—that came between us."

House took a step back. He looked at Lucas, conjuring all the fake sincerity he could muster.

"I'm sorry Lucas," he said. "I'm sorry she broke off your engagement. I'm very sorry that you're so upset. But I assure you, she's not here."

But Lucas was not that easily deterred.

"Then what are you doing home in the middle of the day?" he accused. "She's not at work either, I checked."

"Cuddy and I had a rough night last night," House explained. "You heard about the building that collapsed in Trenton? We were both there—saw a lot of pretty horrible things. I guess we're both . . . decompressing."

"I know about the crane," Lucas said, almost under his breath. "It was right after that that she broke it off. She came to me, in the middle of the night and said, 'I can't marry you because I don't love you.' Can you believe that? Just like that. No warning, no explanation, no nothing."

If it were anybody else, under any other circumstances, House might have said something along the lines of: "She was under a lot of stress. People do irrational things in times of stress. They react on impulse, on emotion. She probably didn't know what she was doing."

But he would never say those words aloud to Lucas—partly because he feared so much that they were true.

Instead, he repeated himself: "I'm sorry Lucas."

Lucas looked up, idly, finally noticing House's appearance. "What the hell happened to your face, dude?"

"Occupational hazard," House said.

The collapsed building would also explain the wound on his shoulder, but not the scratches on his back, which thankfully Lucas couldn't see.

Lucas slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"I'm sorry I bothered you, man," he said. "Listen, if you hear from her. . .just tell her to call me, okay? Please."

"Absolutely," House said—perhaps too eagerly.

It was then that, out of the corner of his eye, Lucas noticed the Boggle game.

"What's that?" he said, glaring at it.

Crap.

"It's Boggle," House said. "It's a word game. We should play sometime. It's fun! Thanks for stopping by, Lucas."

He tried to steer him out the door, but Lucas wasn't budging.

"What the hell are you doing with a half-finished game of Boggle in your living room?" he said.

"Wilson and I have a standing Thursday night game," House said.

"You're lying!" Lucas said. He pushed past House and started searching the room, frantically. "Where is she? Lisa! Lisa!"

House grabbed Lucas' arm. "Lucas, I know you're upset, but get a hold of yourself."

"Lisa!" Lucas screamed, shaking himself loose.

House was trying to figure out how to get Lucas out of the apartment—the closet was hardly an ingenuous hiding place—when Cuddy emerged from the bedroom, looking guilty. She was still wearing House's shirt, but she'd had the good sense to change into her scrub pants.

Still, there was no question about what Lucas was walking in on—a very cozy, very domestic, quite obviously post-coital scene.

"Hi Lucas," she said quietly.

Lucas stopped dead in his tracks.

"I knew it," he hissed.

He turned angrily at House.

"You bastard!"

He went to punch him. But he was sluggish and slow from lack of sleep and too much alcohol and he swung wildly. House was able to duck away without much effort.

"Lucas!" Cuddy shouted.

She ran over and stood between the two men, put her hand on Lucas' chest to back him off a bit.

"This is always what you wanted," Lucas said, pointing threateningly at House. "You have systematically been trying to destroy this relationship from the moment you found out about it. You were not going to rest until you had her for yourself. Are you happy now? Are you?"

House looked down at the rug.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, lamely.

"Lucas, it's not House's fault," Cuddy said.

"Then who's fault it is?"

"It's no one one's fault," Cuddy said. "It just is."

"No," Lucas said, a little desperately. "We had something good together. I know we did."

"You're right," Cuddy said.

"Then what are you doing with him?"

He was practically in tears.

"I love him, Lucas," Cuddy said.

She had said those very words to House only a few hours before, lifting him, quite literally, from one of the lowest points of his life. But to hear her say it again, this time in front of Lucas, made his heart swell.

She loves me.

"You love me, too," Lucas said.

"No," Cuddy said firmly. "I'm sorry, Lucas. But I don't. I have great . . . affection for you, but I don't love you. And I couldn't marry you knowing that I loved another man. It wouldn't be fair to you, or to me—or to anyone."

Lucas folded his arms defensively.

"He's a sociopath," he spat out. "You know that, right? He's a fucking sociopath and a drug addict and a sadist. Great choice there, Lisa. Really great choice."

"That's enough!" she said. She looked over at House. But his face remained stoic—he had been uncharacteristically quiet during this whole exchange.

"Do you have anything at all to say for yourself?" Lucas barked at him.

"I'm sorry," House said, again.

"Anything besides I'm sorry?" Lucas said.

"No."

Lucas inhaled.

"Well fuck you both," he said. "You're a sadist and she's a bitch and you fucking deserve each other. Have a nice life."

And he turned and fled the room.

"Lucas!" Cuddy yelled.

Don't go after him.

But she did, running in his wake down the hall. House heard his footsteps, then hers. Then both steps stopped and there were murmured voices.

He sat down onto the couch, put his head in his hands, and waited.

She's going to come back. She's here because she loves you, not him. She's going to come back.

She was gone for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't hear them anymore. Had they left? Together? He felt vaguely sick.

And then, just like that, she returned.

She slumped down next to him, tucking herself under his arm.

"That was fun," she said dryly.

He gave her shoulders a little squeeze.

"You okay?" he said. He hoped the relief didn't register too obviously in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, allowing herself to relax into his touch. "How about you? You were a real champ during that. You were actually. . .nice."

"I know what it feels like to lose you," House said. "I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

She looked up at him gratefully. Then she climbed onto his lap, kissed him on the lips.

"I'm not going anywhere House. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," he said.