"Wilson, we have a problem," House said, collapsing on the couch in Wilson's office.

"I'm sure it's extraordinarily dire, House," Wilson said, putting on his lab coat. "But it's going to have to wait. I'm late for a consult."

"It can't wait," House said. "It's a matter of life and death."

"Patient?" Wilson said, concerned.

"Girlfriend," House said.

Wilson smiled tolerantly, pocketed his iPhone and turned off the lamp on his desk.

"I'll come find you in a few hours," he said. "I'm sure you—and your relationship—will survive until then."

He started for the door.

"She wants to marry me," House said.

Wilson stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

"She wants to be Dr. Lisa House. Or Dr. Lisa Cuddy-House. Or Dr. Lisa House-Cuddy. Or just plain Lisa Cuddy, if she's feeling particularly Susan B Anthony-ish. Whatever the case, she wants me to put a ring on it."

Wilson folded his arms. "And she told you this?"

"No, she didn't have to. I found definitive proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"I happened to see inside her briefcase—"

"What were you doing looking in her briefcase?"

"Stay focused, Wilson. I happened to see inside her briefcase and I found a bridal magazine. It was called Your Big Day."

Wilson said nothing.

"Your. Big. Day."

"I get it. And you're sure it was Cuddy's?" Wilson said.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't mine."

"I mean, is it possible she was just holding it—for a friend?"

"Because that always happens," House said, adding. "Come to think of it, my dad never bought that line when he found my stash of weed, either."

"It's just. . .not like Cuddy to be into all into that girly, wedding-y stuff."

"She's a woman. She's genetically programmed to be into all that girly, wedding-y stuff."

Wilson looked at him.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, have you considered it? You've been dating over a year. We both know that you're never going to do better than Cuddy. Frankly, it's miracle that she's stayed with you this long."

"Fair point," House said, nodding.

"So maybe you ought to make an honest woman out of her, before she wises up."

"Please. I mean, can you really see me walking down the aisle in a penguin suit, while Pachelbel's Canon plays and Rachel and a bunch of her preschool minions pelt me with flowers?"

"Well, there's more than one way to skin a wedding," Wilson said, pleased with his play on words.

"Meaning?"

"You can just do something quiet. No penguin suits. No flower girls. At a justice of the peace."

"What part of Your Big Day didn't you understand?"

"Maybe she'll compromise," Wilson said.

"Oh yeah, because Cuddy's all about compromise. Besides, even if she did agree to get married by a justice of the peace, the end result would still be Greg House: husband. Just try to wrap you mind around that concept."

"The mind does reel," Wilson acknowledged. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Is the Witness Protection Program too extreme?"

"I think you have to talk to her. Get it out in the open before it drives a wedge between you two."

House looked pained.

"How do you tell the woman that you love that you don't want to marry her?"

Wilson chuckled.

"You're clearly asking the wrong guy."

######

That night, Cuddy climbed into bed next to House.

She propped her head on her elbow and looked at him.

"You were awfully quiet during dinner," she said. "Is something bothering you?"

"No," he said, yawning theatrically. "I'm fine."

"You sure? I didn't see you once all day. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were avoiding me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Okay," she said, giving him a slightly kittenish smile. "Just as long as I have your full attention right now."

She kissed him on the mouth, which was usually all it took to get him to start groping her. Instead, he rolled over and turned out the light.

"G'night," he said.

"Ooooooh no," she said, turning the light back on. "Spill it."

He side-eyed her.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"No. You don't get to obsess. You're like a dog with a bone when you obsess and it's very annoying. So just preemptively put us both out of our misery and tell me what's bothering you."

"Well, if you must know, I found it."

"Found what?"

"That horrible magazine," House said.

"What magazine?"

"The one with the blushing bride on the cover."

"Your Big Day?" she said. "The magazine that was in my briefcase? What the hell were you doing looking through my briefcase?"

"Why is everyone burying the lead on this? I saw a wedding magazine! Amongst your belongings."

"And you naturally assumed it was mine?"

"Yes. I also assumed that the pens, papers, and business cards that read 'Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine" were yours, too."

"You're too much."

"I'm too much?"

"Yes, House. It was my magazine. And it was in my briefcase. But it wasn't for me. It was for Dr. Gordon. She's getting married. She found out I was going to Barnes & Noble and asked me to pick it up for her."

"Uh huh," House said skeptically.

"Please, House. Do you really think I'm one of those women who's obsessed with Vera Wang gowns and four-tier wedding cakes?"

"The fact that you even know who Vera Wong—"

"Wang."

"The fact that you even know who Vera Wang is suggests that you are."

"Don't be insane. If I wanted to go down some traditional path, I would've stuck with Lucas. I picked you, my favorite lunatic, instead."

House squinted at her.

"So you really don't want to get married?"

She shook her head.

"The only time I ever expect you to get down on one knee is when you want to put your head up my skirt."

"Sounds like fun," he said.

"Everything's been great between us," she said seriously. "Why rock the boat?"

He looked for the usual tell: The head tilt. But she seemed completely sincere.

"In that case," he said, crawling on top of her. "Let's rock the bed instead."

"Aaaaaand he's back!"

#####

He was mostly convinced, but not entirely. After all, she knew that he knew her tell. Maybe she had gotten rid of it.

So he juggled his schedule and arranged to "bump into" Dr. Sandra Gordon in the hall.

"Dr. Gordon, I understand congratulations are in order," he said.

"Thanks House," she said, surprised.

"So you are getting married?"

"Isn't that why you just congratulated me? Or did I win the hospital raffle and just not know about it?"

"No, the wedding part. . . And Dr. Cuddy's role in all of this?"

"Yes, she's one of my bridesmaids. But don't worry House. She told me you weren't coming to the wedding. She said—and I quote—'House is allergic to the whole institution of marriage.'"

###

"Turns out, she doesn't want to marry me," House muttered, squirting ketchup on Wilson's fries.

"Hey! I don't like ketchup," Wilson said.

"I do," House shrugged.

"But that's good, right?" Wilson said, eyeing him. "Because you don't want to marry her, either."

"Right," House said.

"Then why do you look so unhappy?"

"Well, it would be nice if she wanted to marry me a little," he said, dumping an excessive amount of salt and pepper on the fries.

"I'm sure she does," Wilson said, shaking his head at House's adventures in seasoning.

"Says who?"

"Says. . ."—Wilson thought about it for a second—"Cuddy."

House stopped eating.

"You've talked to her about this?"

"Several times."

"What? How come you never told me?"

"I figured it was between you and Cuddy."

"Tell me what she said, Wilson. Be specific."

"She said that in some alternate universe, she would like to marry you. It's just that she knows it's not going to happen in this one, so she's adjusted her expectations."

House furrowed his brow and stared at a fry without eating it.

"Huh," he said.

######

A few weeks later, House was in the DDx room when Cuddy marched in.

"Need you," she said.

He popped up.

"Look busy," he told his team. "I'm sure there are some angry birds that urgently need your attention."

He followed her into his office.

"I got it!" she said, when he had closed the door.

"The grant?"

For the past six months, Cuddy had been trying to secure a 5 million dollar grant from a national healthcare fund. It was an extremely big deal. Only 6 hospitals in the country were receiving them.

If they were home alone, he probably would've hugged her. But he could see his team watching them through the glass.

"Way to go," he said, with a slight smile.

"Thanks," she said. "You always said I would get it, but I guess I didn't quite believe you."

"Ye of little faith."

"The important thing is, you always had faith in me," Cuddy said, beaming at him.

"Experience tells me that once you put your mind to something, you're pretty much unstoppable," he said.

She leaned across the desk, gave him a light kiss on the lips.

"Well, thanks," she said. "You've been my rock during all of this."

"You're welcome," he said. "I expect to be the beneficiary of your gratitude later tonight."

"Count on it," she said, flirtatiously.

As she began to leave, House asked, "So what did the board say when you told them?"

"I haven't told them yet," she said. "When I found out, I came straight to you."

#######

The next day, Cuddy set up a meeting in the auditorium where she told the entire staff.

Most of her recent staff meetings had been dreary affairs, with Cuddy trying in vain to keep morale up in the midst of layoffs and budget cuts.

But today was a cause for celebration—and the vibe was downright giddy.

House took particular pride in noting that Cuddy's employees weren't just happy—they were happy for her. It was a sign of good leadership, he thought, that they were so invested in her triumphs.

After the meeting let out, House hung by the door, waiting to walk her back to her office.

"Congratulations, House," said Dr. Alan Boyd, the head of immunology, as he walked by. And he slapped House on the back.

#####

A few weeks later, House got home from work on the late side.

Rachel and Cuddy were camped out in front of the TV, watching some sort of cartoon.

"Hi," they said in unison, waving, and not looking up from the TV.

House limped over the couch.

"I'm hungry," he said hopefully.

"There's some leftover pizza in the fridge," Cuddy said.

"Really?" House muttered.

"We want popcorn! We want popcorn!" Rachel sang.

"Yeah! Popcorn!" Cuddy sang with her.

"Jesus, what am I, the butler?" House said.

But he heated his pizza and nuked some popcorn, then grabbed a beer and joined them on the couch.

"Thank you," Cuddy said, taking the bowl of popcorn from House and stretching out her legs on his lap.

House went to put his beer on the coffee table.

"Use a coaster!" Cuddy scolded, swatting his hand.

"Anything else slave boy can do for you?" he grumbled.

Rachel laughed.

"You said slave boy," she said.

"Poor baby," Cuddy said, in mock sympathy. "Not a domestic goddess in sight to cater to your needs."

He sighed.

"What are we watching? Why are those toys talking?"

"That's Woody," said Rachel. "He reminds me of Uncle Wilson. And that's Buzz Lightyear. He's very brave."

"So he must remind you of me, huh?" House said.

And Rachel collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Later, from bed, House watched Cuddy, who was sitting on the toilet bowl, shaving her legs. A certain ease had settled into their relationship where she didn't feel a need to hide all her beauty rituals from him. He loved it.

"What are you looking at?" she said, suspicious.

"You," he said.

Her hair was tied up with a scrunchie and she was wearing a pair of his boxer shorts and an old tank top.

She snorted.

"Who can blame you? I'm every man's fantasy. You're livin' the dream, pal."

"I am," he said, sincerely.

"You just want to get laid tonight," she said, wiping the extra shaving cream off her legs with a towel and walking up to the bed.

She leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. She tasted of toothpaste.

"Can't a man compliment his woman without it being a shameless ploy for sex?" House said, putting his hands on her waist and tucking his thumbs under the elastic of her boxers.

"In your case? No," she said. "But don't worry. I put out."

And she took off her tank top and climbed on top of him.

########

After sex, Cuddy fell asleep, as she almost always did. House watched her. She was cold. Still sleeping, she yanked the covers off him, then kicked him. He tried to get at least a corner of the covers back, but she had them in an absolute death grip.

He spooned her, as much for warmth as for affection. Her sleeping body naturally readjusted to mold into his.

"Don't let go," she murmured sleepily.

So this is what happiness feels like, he thought.

######

House was at his desk, lost in concentration, staring at a scan.

"That must be one helluva scan," Wilson said, loudly.

House jumped.

"Jesus, man. Don't sneak up on a guy like that."

"I've been standing her for several minutes. What are you looking at?"

"Uh, just a lower GI scan," House said, quickly putting the scan into his desk drawer.

"And why have you been so anxious all day? You nearly jumped out of your skin when your pager went off this morning."

"Nothing. I guess I'm just a little preoccupied," House said.

"Disciplinary board meeting?" Wilson asked.

"No? Why?"

"You're wearing a new shirt. And you actually shaved."

"Sorry to disappoint you," House said. "It's casual Friday and I like to zig when everyone else zags."

"Then what's on your mind?"

"Vexing case," House said, in a voice that suggested he wanted Wilson to drop it.

So Wilson left.

A few minutes later, Thirteen came into his office. House had taken the scan back out of his top drawer and was still puzzling over it.

"What's that?" she said.

"I'm a doctor. Looking at a scan. Why is everyone acting like this is some sort of highly suspect behavior on my part?"

"Whoa there, cowboy. Just wondering if that was Mr. Lee's MRI."

"Who's Mr. Lee?"

"Our patient?"

"Oh yeah. Him. . .I think Chase has it."

"Okay," she said. She started to leave, then stopped.

"House, are you wearing aftershave?"

"Get out, Thirteen."

########

He took a deep breath, smoothed his hair a bit, and entered her office.

"I need you to take a look at this scan," he said.

"Can it wait, House?" Cuddy said. "I'm swamped."

"It's pretty urgent," House said.

She looked up from her computer and held out her hand in an impatient, "gimme" sort of way.

"What am I looking at?" she said.

"You tell me."

She squinted at the scan.

"It looks like someone swallowed a . . .diamond ring?"

She looked up at him.

"Nice rock, huh?" he said, smiling a bit.

"I'll say," she said. "There's got to be a good story behind this. But why are you. . ."

And her mouth dropped open as House got down on one knee.

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out a small box.

"No way," she said.

"The scan's a fake," he said. "But the ring is real."

He opened the box.

Cuddy felt her face go crimson.

"Cuddy, it occurred to me, that not marrying you was the wrong play entirely," he said, studying her face. "You see, when a miserable SOB like me gets lucky, he should do everything in his power to stay lucky. And that's why I want you to be my wife. Correction: That's why I need you to be my wife. So, when you come to your senses, you'll be trapped."

And he smiled.

From outside the door, Cuddy's assistant had seen House drop to the floor.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked, which got everyone's attention.

A small crowd of nurses had now gathered in front of Cuddy's office. They were craning their necks.

"What's going on?" said Wilson, who heard the commotion on his way to the clinic.

"House just got down on one knee!" Cuddy's assistant said.

"Did he fall?" Wilson said, not getting it.

"No, he's proposing!"

"What?"

He looked into the office. Sure enough, there was House, slowly standing up and placing a ring on Cuddy's finger and then Cuddy was crying and laughing and hugging House and House was smiling the most relieved, grateful, blissed-out smile Wilson had ever seen on his friend's face.

The nurses burst into applause and, noticing them, Cuddy buried her face in House's neck.

"Holy shit, the bastard really did it," Wilson said. And he joined the applause.