When I said I was giving you an alternate take on Help Me, I wasn't kidding. Hope you like this version of events. xo

"Try her again," Arlene said.

"Mom, I just tried her 5 minutes ago, she's not answering."

It was an hour after Cuddy's runaway bride routine, and Arlene, Julia, Lucas, and Wilson—who had been roped into this little pow wow against his will—were sitting together in the bride's lounge, trying to make sense out of it all.

"Did she give you any indication that she had cold feet? Anything?" Arlene demanded.

Lucas, who had been quiet up until this point, staring straight ahead, absorbing the humiliation of what had transpired, finally said wearily, "She's with House."

"House?" Arlene said.

"Gregory House?" Julia said.

"I thought she was done with all that House nonsense," Arlene said.

"He. . .he. . .has some kind of hold over her," Lucas moaned. All eyes turned to Wilson.

He held up his hands.

"Don't look at me," he said. "I know nothing."

"But is it true?" Julia said. "Lisa and House are still . . .close?"

Wilson thought about House and Cuddy, their secret language, their endless preoccupation with each other, their smoldering looks.
"You could say that," he said.

"I thought once he went to the loony bin, she realized what a nutjob he was and washed him out of her system," Arlene said.

"No," Wilson said.

"No? No what?"

"No, she didn't wash him out of her system. She'll never wash him out of her system."

"Then why the hell did she agree to marry Lucas?" Julia said.

"Because she loves me," Lucas said, unconvincingly. "House has her confused. He . . . twists things."

"Call him," Arlene said to Wilson.

"House?"

"No, the King of Brunei. Yes, House."

"I doubt he'll pick up. . . last I saw him, he was going home to drink heavily. He's probably long passed out."

"Try anyway," Arlene said, in a voice that made it clear it wasn't a suggestion.

Wilson sighed. Dialed.

The phone rang and rang and rang.

"See?" he said. "No answer."

#####

"Where are we going?" House asked.

They were in his car, driving down the Jersey Turnpike.

"Just drive," Cuddy said.

She had changed out of her wedding dress—leaving it in a diaphanous pile on the floor of House's bathroom—and was dressed in a pair of House's sweatpants, drawn tightly at the waist, and one of his old concert tees. Her hair and makeup were still done for the wedding, creating an odd discord.

She leaned her head against the car window.

House looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You wanna talk about it?" he said.

"Not yet," she said.

"Okay."

This was one of the things she liked about House. He understood the virtue of not talking. He was never stressed out by silence.

After an hour or so, she finally said, "I couldn't do it, you know? I couldn't marry Lucas under false pretenses."

"What false pretenses?" House said.

"That I love him," Cuddy said.

He tried not to smile.

"Oh, that," he said.

Cuddy turned toward him, her face now pressed up against the headrest. She looked a bit like a sleepy child on a long road trip.

"See, the thing is, I'm in love with someone else," she said, softly.

"Who?" he said. He needed to hear it. Needed her to say it.

"Taub," she said, with a tiny giggle. "You, dummy."

"Just checking," he said. "I thought maybe I was just a glorified chauffeur."

"Love of my life and glorified chauffeur," she said, closing her eyes, beginning to drift off.

Love of her life. House could've cried.

"Just in case there was any doubt," he said. "The feeling is mutual."

But she was sound asleep.

####

The wedding party all drove to House's place, together.

Wilson tried to beg out but found "I have other plans," was not very convincing when, for all intents and purposes, he was scheduled to be eating wedding cake and tipsily line dancing at this very hour.

Lucas banged on the door.

"Lisa!" he screamed. "I know you're in there!"

No answer.

"Get out of the way," Arlene said, brushing Lucas aside.

Then she said, coaxingly, "Honey, it's mom. We're not mad. Just let us in."

Still no answer.

"Answer the fucking door!" Arlene barked.

"I don't think anyone's home," Wilson offered.

"Then let us in," Lucas said.

"Wh. . what?" Wilson stammered. "This isn't my apartment. It's House's."

"We all know you have a key to his apartment, Wilson," Julia said. "The mind reels just trying to imagine the number of times you had to break in to make sure he wasn't lying in a pool of his own vomit."

"I. . .I. . .do have a spare key, but I left it in my other pants," Wilson lied.

"Then I'll break in," Lucas said, pulling out a Swiss Army Knife. "Might do some damage to the lock, though."

Wilson watched as Lucas grabbed a small, knife-like instrument and began to poke it in House's keyhole.

"Wait!" he said sheepishly. "I. . .forgot. I do have the key after all."

He opened the door. The apartment was dark, empty. They turned on a light.

"House?" Wilson said. "It's me. . .and Lucas. . .and a lot of angry Cuddys."

No answer.

"Guys! Get in here!" It was Julia, who had wandered into the bathroom.

They all stared at the discarded, bunched up wedding dress, in horror.

"He kidnapped her!" Lucas said.

"I . . . strongly doubt that it was a kidnapping," Wilson said.

"But what else could it be? Lisa would never just leave me at the altar, come here, not call," Lucas said.

"I smell a rat," Arlene agreed.

"That could just be Steve McQueen," Wilson cracked.

They all looked at him.

"Nevermind. Inside joke," he said. Then he folded his arms.

"I think it's pretty obvious what happened here," he said.

"Enlighten us," Arlene said.

"Cud—Lisa got cold feet. She came here. She and House ran away . . . together."

"Or he took her. Against her will," Lucas said.

"That doesn't track logically," Wilson said. "She left the wedding on her own. Nobody made her come here."

"Maybe she came here for some advice. Some friendship. But she would never just leave with him. Without Rachel."

"Speaking of which, where is Rachel?" Wilson asked, concerned.
"With the nanny," they said in unison.

"I'm going after them," Lucas said.

"I'm sure that's not necessary," Wilson said. "I'm sure they'll call. . .soon."

He looked nervously at his watch. It was 11 pm.

C'mon, pal, he thought. Call.

#####

Just past midnight, House pulled into the Black Eyed Susan Inn off I-95.

He nudged Cuddy on the arm.

"Hey," he whispered. "I thought we'd crash here for the night."

She opened her eyes groggily, assessed the half-empty parking lot, the flashing neon sign.

"Cool," she said. "They have HBO."

They walked up to the clerk.

"We need a room," House said.

"Double or single?" the clerk said.

House glanced at Cuddy, not sure.

"Single," she said, as though their sleeping arrangement was predetermined, some sort of routine thing.

The clerk handed them the keys and they made their way to the second floor.

Cuddy almost immediately sacked out on the bed.

"Gotta pee," House said.

He went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror.

Be a gentleman, he told himself. She's exhausted. She's confused. Don't take advantage of the situation.

He took a deep breath, splashed cold water on his face. Man up, Greg, he thought.

But when he got out of the bathroom, Cuddy was standing in front of the door, completely naked.

"Hi," she said, with an adorable shrug.

He'd fantasized about her just like this—naked and vulnerable, fully offering herself to him—more times than he could remember. But it was nothing like the real thing.

She was, in his mind at least, the female body in its perfect form—both slender and voluptuous, pillowy and taut—the same intoxicating mixture of strength and softness that had always made her his ideal woman.

But it was her face that killed him: Her lips were slightly parted and she looked hopeful and lustful and ever so slightly scared, as if there was the tiniest chance that he might not like what he saw. As if that was even a remote possibility.

"Oh my God," he said.

He met her parted mouth with his own, kissed her greedily, stroking and caressing every inch of her flesh. His hands moved from her ass, to her waist, then lingered on her breasts—her impossibly perfect breasts—then his fingers made their way between her legs. Her folds were velvety soft and hot and wet—and his own desire was so white hot, he thought for a second he might pass out.

They fell back on the bed and her hips rose to meet him and then she was guiding him inside her—and he grinded against her, slowly at first, trying to savor the moment—until neither of them could take it any longer and their moans grew louder and their movements grew faster, and they both came, simultaneously.

"Oh my God," House said again, collapsing back on the bed, panting, coated in sweat.

"Oh my God," she echoed. And she kissed his hand.

#####

This was how she knew she had made the right choice. Not just because House was a thousand times better lover than Lucas. Hell, he'd been a better lover than Lucas when he was 23 years old. (Even their recent clandestine make out sessions on the roof—the ones that left her with the female equivalent of blue balls—had been more erotic, more satisfying, then a whole night of lovemaking with Lucas.)
It was this: She never felt more alive than when she was with Gregory House. Colors were brighter. Food tasted better. Anger was more fierce. Jokes funnier. Orgasms more mind blowing.

She had done a horrible thing—humiliated Lucas, run away from her family, left a million questions in her wake.

But nobody could ever tell her that being with House was a bad thing. Nothing that felt this right could possibly be wrong.

#######

They spent the next day holed up in the motel room, making love, watching TV, doing nothing.

Eventually, House got out of bed, pulled on his jeans. Cuddy groaned, reached for him.

"Where are you going?" she said, in a sex-sated voice.

"We need sustenance," he said.

"I have all the sustenance I need right here," she said.

He smiled, kissed her on the mouth. One kiss was all it took for him to be at attention again. But he had work to do.

"I remember reading about this once in med school," he said. "If we don't eat, we'll die. A very sexy, very pleasant death, mind you—but death nonetheless."

He took one last look at her—naked on the bed, a thin white sheet covering half of her body—and had to force himself to leave.

He went to the poorly stocked convenience store attached to the motel—found some granola bars, some bottled water, two rather sketchy looking bananas—and shrugged. It would have to do.

"That was one step above dumpster diving," he said cheerfully when he got back.

But she wasn't alone. Lucas was standing in the room, with two police officers. One was tall, with a mustache. The other was balding and fat.

Cuddy was standing beside the bed, with the sheet wrapped around her tightly, talking to the one of the cops.

"That's him!" Lucas said, pointing at House. "That's the man who kidnapped my bride."

"Wow," House said. "That's quite an elaborate fantasy you've spun there, Lucas."

House looked at the cops.

"Are you guys actual cops or are you about to strip? Because if you're strippers—Lucas, you should demand your money back."

"Shut up, Dr. House," mustache cop said. "We're just trying to get the bottom of what happened here."

"Well, one thing's for sure, Cuddy definitely didn't jilt Lucas at the altar and run away with me. And we definitely haven't been making sweet sweet love for the past 24 hours."

"House. . ." Cuddy warned.

"You see?" said Lucas. "He takes nothing seriously. Everything's a joke to this guy. He respects nothing."

"I see that," said the balding cop. "But that doesn't mean he kidnapped your wife."

"Fiancé," Cuddy said.

"Ex fiancé," House said.

"Ma'am," the first cop said to Cuddy. "Did you go with this man"—he gestured to House— "by your own free will?"

Cuddy looked up apologetically, at Lucas.

"Yes, officer. I did."

"Babe, that's crazy," Lucas said, approaching Cuddy. "Come home with me. We don't need to get married right away. Maybe we rushed things. We can wait. Go to couples therapy. Just live together. Whatever you want."

Cuddy looked at him, not without pity.

"Lucas, I can't. . . I'm sorry. I don't love you. I love . . . House."

Lucas grabbed her arm, a little too tightly.

"You do too love me!" he said.

House stepped toward him.

"Let go of her Lucas," he said.

The tall cop put his hand on House's shoulder.

"Easy buddy," he said. Then he turned to Lucas: "And let go of Dr. Cuddy's arm, Lucas."

Lucas let go, looked at the two cops helplessly.

"Are you going to arrest him, or what?" he said.

"I'm very sorry about your wedding, sir. But it's obvious that no crime has taken place here."

"This is insane! He's crazy. He's going to hurt her! He's got a history of mental illness! Look it up!"

"I think it's best if we just left these two alone," the balding cop said, guiding Lucas to the door. "Sorry for your trouble."

"This is all so awkward," House said. "Can I at least offer anyone a granola bar?"

Cuddy turned to House.

"House," she said. "I need a moment with Lucas. . . alone."

"Are you kidding me?" House scoffed. "No way!"

"It's okay," she said.

House's looked at the two cops—as if they might provide some sort of backup— then looked back at Cuddy.

"At least put some clothing on!" he said.

Cuddy tightened the sheet around her.

"I'm fine," she said. "Give us 5 minutes."

House frowned, followed the two cops out the door.

"Five minutes," he said, pointing at his watch.

Now Lucas and Cuddy were alone.

"Lucas, I'm so sorry," she said.

"I forgive you," he said, stepping toward her, as if to give her a hug.

She stepped back. Her body language was stiff, cold—it was like they were strangers.

"I'm sorry Lucas. Words can't express how sorry I am. I just couldn't marry you."

"But . . . why?"

"Because I love him. I've been trying to pretend that I don't. But I can't pretend anymore."

"This is insane. He's brainwashed you. You're . . . under his spell."

In a way, that was true. They'd been under each other's spell for years.

"I know I did a terrible thing," she said. "But it's better this way. Imagine if we had gone through with the wedding? Gotten married—with me, all the while, in love with another man?"

"So what am I supposed to do—thank you?" Lucas said, bitterly.

"No, of course not. The truth is, there's no excuse for what I did. And I can never apologize enough."

"Then don't apologize. Come home with me, Lisa. It's the right thing to do. If you stay with him, he'll ruin your life."

"He is my life," she said.

#####

A few minutes later, a deflated Lucas trudged out of the motel room.

The motel walls were thin, House had heard almost everything from the hall. (He vaguely wondered if the guests had heard him and Cuddy having sex all those times. They hadn't exactly been. . . quiet.)

He wanted to gloat, to say something withering and cruel.

But he remembered that moment, when he'd gone to see Cuddy in her room at the medical conference and found Lucas there—remembered how crushed he had been, how hurt.

He actually felt for the guy.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," he said quietly.

"Fuck you, House," Lucas said, and kept walking.

"Charming," House said. He shrugged, entered the room.

"I'm your life?" he said, with a slight smile.

"Eavesdropping is rude," she said, smiling back.

"The walls are wafer thin," he said. "And so's that sheet."

He pulled it off her, began to kiss her neck.

"What about our feast?" Cuddy laughed.

"It can wait."

#####

They stayed in the motel for two more days (they did leave once, to get dinner at a roadside diner—the waitress called them "lovebirds").

On the second night, they were lying in bed, eating a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

"We should probably start thinking about our re-entry plan," House said.

"Re-entry?" she said.

"Back to real life. To PPTH," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"I don't want to think about that," she said.

"But we have to."

It was a bit of role reversal for them. Usually Cuddy was the sensible one.

"I'm sure we're the talk of the hospital. We'll never live down the scandal."

"So what?" House said, reaching for another cookie.

"So … my reputation is in shambles. My role as an authority figure is compromised. It's—to borrow a phrase—a hot mess."

"I'll have your back," House said. "I'll defend you. I'm extremely good at saying, 'I know you are, but what am I?'"

She smiled at him wearily, then sighed. "I know we have to go back, eventually. I'm just trying to delay the inevitable because the thought fills me with dread."

House shrugged, munched on a cookie.

"Then let's not go back," he said.

She looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, let's get Rachel, skip town. Start someplace fresh. Last I checked, doctorin' was one of those professions that travelled well."

"You know I can't do that, House."

"Why not?"

"Because I have . . responsibilities. As an administrator. As a mother."

"I didn't say leave Rachel behind. She'll come with, of course. You think she cares where she lives? By the time I was her age, I had already moved 4 times. As long as she's with you, she'll be fine."

"What? You're ready to be her . . . father? You don't even know her, House."

"She's a kid. She has, like, 18 vocabulary words. What are we going to do? Argue about geo-global politics?"

Cuddy gave him a look. He sensed he had said the wrong thing.

"If you love her, I love her," he said gently. "By default."

She smiled, despite herself.

"And the hospital?"

"Fuck em," he said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. He had said the wrong thing again.

"Or. . .stay on as a long distance consultant until they find a replacement. Let's face it, Foreman has been gunning for your job for years. This is his 'be careful what you wish for' moment."

"You have this all figured out, huh?" she said.

"Nope. I'm winging it. But it's viable plan."

"And my mother? My sister? Your Wilson?"

"I didn't say we were going into the witness protection program. Just leaving Jersey. And we can strap Wilson to the roof."

Cuddy leaned back on the pillow.

"Okay," she said. "Let's run away together."

House's mouth dropped open. He had just been thinking out loud. Spitballing. Never in a million years did he think she'd actually agree to his hare-brained plan.

"Okay," he said.

#####

House called Wilson, told him about their plan.

"Wow, that's a big step," Wilson said, whistling.

"And now's when you try to talk me out of it, right?" House said.

"No," said Wilson thoughtfully, much to House's surprise. "I think a change of venue might be just what the doctor ordered, for both of you. No pun intended. But I'll miss you."

"Don't get sentimental, Wilson. They have these things called airplanes now."

And Wilson laughed.

#####

They bought a car seat from Target, had the nanny pack an overnight bag, and picked Rachel up the next day.

"Who are you?" she said to House.

"That's House," Cuddy said. "He's mommy's special friend."

"But not special in the needs-a-drool-cup sense of the word," House explained. "Special as in: Mommy prefers my company to that of all others—except you, of course. Actually, sometimes she prefers my company to yours. But you're too young to understand why."

Rachel squinted at him. She had no idea what any of that meant, but she liked the grownup way he talked to her—he was funny.

"You're silly," she said.

"Thank you," House said.

"So," Cuddy said. "Where we headed?"

"I hear Portland is lovely this time of year."

"Maine or Oregon?"

"Who cares?"

THE END