The next day, Wilson made his way to House's office and sat down, without being invited.

"Perfect," House grumbled.

"We need to talk," Wilson said.

"No," House said. "Actually, we don't."

"I'm sleeping with Cuddy. That obviously calls for some sort of conversation."

"No, it doesn't," House said. "You just said it yourself. You're sleeping with her. I'm not. End of story."

"At least let me explain."

"Not necessary."

Wilson gave a queasy chuckle.

"Ironically, you were the one who sort of brought us together," he said.

House put his head in his hands and groaned.

"We were both worried about you, spending more time together. One thing led to another. . ."

"I beg you to stop," House said, looking up from his hands.

"Neither of us meant to hurt you. It just sort of…happened. Cuddy's actually quite worried about you."

House snickered.

"Oh, that comes as such a relief."

"I know you're angry," Wilson said.

"I'm NOT ANGRY!" House shouted.

Wilson cocked an eyebrow.

"Clearly you're. . ."

House lowered his voice again, trying to stay calm.

"I'm not angry. I had no claim on Cuddy. A drug-fueled fantasy does not a relationship make. I was out of the picture. You're a guy. You did what guys do. I salute you for finally growing a pair."

"And you think I'm a colossal dick."

"I think you're a guy."

"So we're . . . okay?" Wilson said, cautiously.

"We're fine," House said.

Wilson squinted at him. He wasn't convinced.

"If you want to deck me, my jaw is always here." he said, pointing at his chin. "One good punch and we might both feel better."

"Get out of my office Wilson," House said.

"I really am sorry."

"And I really am busy."

Wilson looked at House's desk. There were no X-rays, no patient files. As far as he knew, House wasn't treating any patients at the moment.

"Okay. . ." he said reluctantly. And he left.

House watched him walk away and then spoke quietly—to the room, to the gods, to no one in particular:
"But did it have to be her?"

####

"Any thaw?" Wilson asked Cuddy. They were sitting together in the cafeteria having lunch, talking about House, as they almost always did.

It had been four days since House had discovered them in bed together and House was behaving in a truly disconcerting way: He wasn't angry. He wasn't acting out. Instead, he was civil, polite, and completely distant.

Several times, Cuddy had tried to start a conversation with him and each time, he answered succinctly and rationally and then walked away.

Yesterday, they had invited him to join them for lunch and he made up some lame excuse about needing to fill out insurance forms. ("He hasn't filled out insurance forms in five years," Cuddy said.)

Now they both looked up and saw him again, holding a tray. They were about to wave him over when he veered in the opposite direction and sat at a table with Lucas and four comely nurses.

Almost immediately, House began laughing, slapping Lucas on the back and bending toward the nurses flirtatiously. His laughter, all the bonhomie at the table, seemed too loud, forced, and very much for their benefit.

"You know what he's doing, right?" Wilson said.

Cuddy sighed.

"He's trying to make us jealous."

"So I guess Lucas is his new best friend," Wilson said, laughing dismissively.

"And I guess I'm supposed to believe that he might actually be interested in those nurses," Cuddy said, sharing his laugh.

They both contemplated the table.

"Lucas is a tool, right?" Wilson said.

"A huge one," Cuddy said, frowning a bit. "Nurse Danielle has a really flat ass. Have you ever noticed that?"

"Like a pancake," Wilson said.

#####

She finally managed to get him alone, a few days later.

He was outside, despite a serious chill in the air, skipping stones near the picnic bench in the park.

"Here you are," she said, sitting on the bench, watching him.

Of course, he was an excellent stone-skipper. The stones skidded gracefully across the water, makings splashes with each successive dip.

For a moment, she felt sad, as she always did when she saw him do something physical. He had been an excellent athlete once, a lifetime ago.

"I don't have clinic duty," House said, searching the ground for another stone. "And my case is under control."

"I know," she said. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Oh wait! I just remembered that I do have a case," he said, pretending to walk away.

"House," she admonished.

My attempts to avoid this conversation with you have reached the end of the road, huh?" he said, ironically.

"Apparently so," she said. "I just want to say. . .I'm sorry."

"I know," he said. He had found a flat and shiny stone. He reared back and threw it a surprisingly long distance. This time, not so much an artful skip as a Hail Mary pass.

He sat down next to her, resigned to his fate.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," he said.

"I know there has always been this. . . thing between us," she said. "I'm not going to try to deny that. But it was a roller coaster. Wilson is more like a . . ."

"Really flat road in a suburban cul-de-sac?" House offered.

"I was going to say, merry-go-round. A nice, slow, merry-go-round. Pleasant, no surprises."

"Whatever floats your boat," House said, irritably.

"He's a good man. But I don't have to tell you that," Cuddy said.

"The best," House agreed.

"After your . . . fantasy. . ." Cuddy started, looking at her hands.

"It was a hallucination. Let's call it what it was," House said.

"After your hallucination," she corrected. "I thought maybe it was going to be a turning point for you and me. But then I found out about your … girlfriend at Mayfield."

"How did you even. . .?" Then he shook his head, half annoyed, half impressed. "Of course. Wilson."

"So are you still seeing her?" Cuddy said, trying to make her voice sound breezy.

"No, I'm not still seeing her. I never was seeing her, technically. No man should be held accountable for an affair he has while in a mental institution. Do you blame a drowning man for hanging onto a life preserver?"

"What about Nurse Danielle? I saw you flirting with her." Cuddy realized that her line of question was beyond unfair. But she couldn't help herself.

He smiled at her, knowingly.

"We're having dinner on Friday," he said.

"Really?" she said.

"No, not really," he said. "She has no ass."

"You've always been an ass man," Cuddy said, chuckling.

"Only as part of a whole package," he said, looking at her.

She looked down.

Finally Cuddy stood up, picked up a stone, and tossed it in the water. Instead of skipping, it sank unceremoniously to the bottom of the pond.

She tried again. Still no luck.

She was banking on the fact that no man, not even one as stubborn as Gregory House, could watch a woman failing at a physical challenge without trying to help her.

"You're doing it wrong," House said finally, as Cuddy suppressed a smile. "First of all, you need to find a flat stone, like this."

He handed her a stone, first wiping off the dirt. "Then, it's all in the wrist. You fling it, you don't chuck it."

He demonstrated the motion.

She attempted to ape him, doing a little better—it skipped once this time.

"Like this," he said, standing behind her and manually moving her arm in the proper way. She felt this tiny familiar stir when he touched her.

He demonstrated again.

"Got it?" he said.

A part of her never wanted him to let go, never wanted him to take his arm off of hers.

"I think so," she said. Concentrating hard, she tried on her own, flicking her wrist and bending her elbow the way House had shown her. The stone skipped like a champ.

"Hey, I did it!" she said, with glee.

But when she looked up, he had already begun his slow ascent back to the hospital—limping farther and farther away, until he, like the stone, was completely out of sight.

######

A few nights later, Cuddy met Wilson at a restaurant for dinner.

She was late. She moved purposefully across the room, with the brusque energy of an important woman.

"I'm sorry," she said, giving him a half-hearted kiss on the cheek. "Crazy day."

Then she noticed the martini sitting in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, taking a grateful sip. "I needed this."

She picked up the menu, started to read it, then said, distractedly: "I'm worried about House. He looks tired to me. And thin. Do you think he's been eating? Should we think about getting him something and dropping it off at his place?"

When Wilson didn't respond, she peered out from behind the menu.

He had his arms folded and he was glaring at her.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," he said, irritably

"What?" she said.

"I said, I'm fine. Not that you bothered to ask."

"I'm sorry, I. . what?" Cuddy was still confused.

"Have you ever noticed that all we ever do is talk about House?" Wilson said.

"I wouldn't exactly say that," she said, defensively.

"No. I'm serious. Every single one of our conversations ultimately turns to House. Tonight, you merely dispensed with the pleasantries and went right to your favorite subject."

"I didn't realize, I. . .I'm sorry." Then she gave a tiny smile. "How was your day?"

Wilson folded his arms a little tighter across his chest, ignored her.

"Are you happy with me?" he said.

"Happy? Of course I'm happy. . .why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Because we've been dating three months and you still haven't asked me to spend the night. Not once."

"I have a child, Wilson. I can't be expected to. . ."

"I get along great with Rachel," he said. "Always have. So I have to ask myself, is this because of Rachel or because no matter what I say or do, I'll always just be a poor substitute for House?"

"That's not fair!" Cuddy said.

"Isn't it?"

"No. . .you care about House, too. He's something we have in common. You've said so yourself, he's the one who brought us together."

"I just don't want him to be the one who breaks us apart," Wilson muttered.

"He won't be," she said, with feigned confidence.

Wilson looked at her for a second. Then his face softened.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "I had a bad day. I'm being a jerk. Forget I even mentioned it." He gave an apologetic smile. "How's the martini? Did I order it right this time?"

It had too much vermouth, but she couldn't possibly tell him that.

"It's perfect," she lied.

######

A few days later, Cuddy saw House get into the elevator and made a mad dash to slip in beside him before the doors closed.

"Fancy meeting you here," she joked, slightly out of breath.

"A simple 'hold the elevator' would've been equally effective," House said. "But not quite as good a cardiovascular workout I suppose."

"I was afraid you'd pretend not to hear me," she admitted.

"I think we're beyond the slamming elevator doors in each other's faces stage. Although just barely," he said.

"I'd like to move way beyond it," she said.

"What did you have in mind?" he said. "Annual Christmas cards? Waving at each other in the hallway?"

"How bout dinner tonight?" she offered.

"With you and Boy Wonder? Three's not really company, you know. That was just a TV show."

"I'm not seeing Wilson tonight. He has other plans."

"Don't care," House said. The door opened and he limped toward his office. Cuddy followed.

"I just want us to be friends again," she said, somewhat pathetically.

He stopped walking, faced her.

"We were never actually friends, were we?" he said. "I don't know what we used to be to each other. But it was definitely not just friends."

"Okay then forget the 'again' part," she said. "I want us to be friends. Full stop."

He thought about it for a second.

"You're buying?" he said.

"Of course," she said, beaming at him.

"Alright." He looked at his watch. "I'm ready now."

It was a little past 4 p.m.

"Or how bout I swing my your office at 7?" she said, laughing.

"You're such a killjoy," he said. Then with a smile: "7 it is."

######

Cuddy had to admit it: The difference between dinner with House and dinner with Wilson was night and day.

With Wilson, it was comfortable, easy, and—save for the occasional insecure blow-up about her feelings for House—a bit dull.

With House, it was a heady combination of flirtation, big laughs, and intellectual challenges.

She liked the way she felt with House—a little giddy, on her toes, and super sexy. She never felt more desirable than when she was sitting across from Gregory House, exchanging verbal lobs.

"I love watching you flirt with the waiter to get what you want," he said, teasing her.

"What? I do no such thing!"

He began to mimic her, in a high-pitched voice: "'And if you were to put a little extra avocado on my salad, I promise not to tell a soul.'" He bat his eyelashes.

"I like avocado!" she protested.

"And the waiter likes you flirting with him. It's a win-win."

"Like you never flirt to get what you want," she countered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he deadpanned.

"How many times has Carla in the lab put your samples at the front of the line because you sweet talked her?"

"What can I say?" House said. "50 year old lab technicians crave my bod."

"At least she doesn't have a flat ass," Cuddy cracked.

"No, it's kind of . . .lumpy," he said. And she threw her napkin at him.

They finished a bottle of wine and then ordered a second one.

After they got their check, House walked her to her car.

"I think this friendship thing might work out," he said, with a grin. "I had a fun."

"So that's it?" she said, disappointed.

He eyed her.

"What else?"

"Rachel is spending the night with my mother. The night is young," she heard herself say. "How about a night cap at your place?"

He scratched his beard, thought about it for a second, drew a nervous breath:

"I'll meet you there," he said.

######

He made her a martini with just the right amount of vermouth and poured himself a scotch on the rocks.

"To friendship," she said, clinking his glass.

They were sitting side by side on the couch. They were both drunk enough that their body language was a little uninhibited, sensual. They spoke closely, their bodies curling toward each other.

The alcohol emboldened House to finally ask what had been on his mind all night.

"So why Wilson?" he said, in a slightly hoarse voice. "Of all the lucky bastards in the world, why my best friend?"

"Because I don't have the hots for him," she admitted.

"That makes zero sense," he said.

"I've had bad luck with men I've had the hots for," she said. "One in particular."

"I'm sorry that I brought you bad luck," he said.

"What makes you so sure I was talking about you!" she teased.

"Weren't you?" he said.

"Of course," she giggled, putting her head on his shoulder. "I perpetually have the hots for you."

"And I perpetually have the hots for you."

With that, inevitably, they found each other's mouths and they were kissing—slightly drunken kisses, hot and thick—and his hands were all over her and every nerve ending in her body was on fire.

They fell back on the couch, both breathing heavily, his mouth on her neck, moving toward her chest, and she was murmuring, "Oh God, yes." And she could feel his dick, huge and hard against her leg, and she had never wanted someone so much in her life, and the desire was welling up inside her, and she was about to get lost in him—impossibly lost in the taste and feel of fucking Gregory House—when suddenly, quite unexpectedly, he stopped.

"I can't do this," he said, sitting up and physically lifting her off him.

She bolted upright, utterly shocked. Her blouse was almost completely undone and her bra was unhooked. House had to look away from her.

"But. . . I don't understand," she said, almost pleadingly. "I know you want me. I could feel how much you want me."

He closed his eyes.

"I do want you. So fucking badly. But I can't. . .you're Wilson's girl now."

"What?" she said.

"He's my best friend," he continued. "Or at least was my best friend. There's a. . .code. I can't explain it."

"That's ridiculous," Cuddy said. "It's never been about Wilson. You know that. I know that. Even Wilson knows that. It's always been about you."

She went to kiss him again, but he held out his hand to stop her.

"Cuddy, I can't."

She stared at him in disbelief. Then she stood up, hooked her bra, began to button her blouse.

"Okay, if that's really what you want," she said.

House put his head in his hands and said nothing.

######

The next night, sitting next to him on her couch (it was video night; fittingly enough, they were watching Atonement), Cuddy confessed her sins to Wilson.

"I had dinner with House last night," she said.

"Yeah?" he said uneasily.

"And there's more."

"Did you sleep with him?" he asked, not looking at her.

"No, but I . . . wanted to," she admitted.

He hit pause. Keira Knightley's face, mid-cry, was frozen on the screen.

"What happened? Your conscience got the best of you?" he said, bitterly.

"No, his did."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means. . .House wouldn't have sex with me because I'm …your girlfriend."

Wilson shook his head and gave a tiny, bitter chuckle.

"That loyal son of a bitch," he said.

"I can't do this anymore, Wilson," she said, with a sigh. "It's not fair to you. It's not fair to me. And it's not fair to House."

"No, I suppose it isn't," Wilson said.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Me too."

"This is going to sound so, so lame," she said. "But I hope we can still be friends. Your friendship means the world to me."

"I'm sure we can work something out," Wilson said, leaning back against the couch glumly. "History has proven that I'm friends with all my exes." And he managed a sheepish smile.

"Good," she said. And she squeezed his hand.

"Too soon," he said.

######

The next day, Wilson wandered into House's office and once again sat down in the chair across from his desk without an invitation.

Before House could tell him to get out, he said quickly: "Cuddy and I broke up."

House blinked.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, evenly.

"I actually believe you," Wilson said. "Cuddy told me what. . . happened between you two."

House looked at him.

"I'm sorry. We'd both had a lot to drink. I swear it didn't go much beyond a kiss."

"I know," Wilson said. "Cuddy told me you. . .put a stop to things. Because of me."

House swallowed a bit.

"I did," he said.

"I confess I found that to be rather . . .ironic," Wilson said.

"How so?"

"We both know I stole her from you," Wilson said.

"Cuddy's no one's property. She's her own woman."

"And she was in love with you. And I knew it. But I seized an opportunity and I took advantage of her vulnerability anyway. I even told her about Lydia."

"I know you did. Impressive move."

Wilson gave a weary smile.

"The thing is, when I think about our friendship, I have this narrative in my head, you know? I like to think of myself as the good friend. The generous one. The one who makes sacrifices."

"Sounds about right to me."

"Really?" Wilson said, his voice catching a bit. "Because all I recall is that I sold you out to Tritter for many complicated reasons, at least one of which was it made my life easier. And then I was willing to let you die to try to save Amber. I stood by and let them mess with your brain—hell, I encouraged it! And now this. It pains me to say this, but out of the two of us, you might just be the better man."

"Take it back," House said. But a barely perceptible smile was playing at his lips.

"I love you, House."

"Shut the fuck up, Wilson."

Wilson gave a sad, relieved laugh.

"So what about Cuddy?" he said.

"What about her?"

"She loves you. She wants to be with you. That much I know for sure."

"So what do I do?" House said.

"I think it's fairly obvious."

#####

The next day, House jammed his cane in the elevator door just as it was about to close.

Cuddy, who was alone in the elevator, smiled at him.

"A simple, 'Hold the elevator' would've sufficed."

"But this was much more dramatic," House said.

"True."

"So I heard the news. . .about you narrowly avoiding becoming the fourth ex-Mrs. Wilson."

"Yeah," Cuddy said, with a tiny laugh.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling. . .optimistic that I'm finally going to get what I really want."

She looked at him hopefully.

"Well, you know what the philosopher Jagger once said," he said.

Cuddy's face fell.

Then he laughed. "Oh fuck it. It's Jagger, not Socrates. What time should I pick you up tonight?"

EPILOGUE

Four months later, Wilson marched into House's office at the end of the day.

House's eyes had been closed (napping?) and his face was a little flushed (a really good dream?).

"Gotta minute?" Wilson said.

"Actually no," House said, his eyes popping open. "Thanks for dropping by!"

"This will only take a second."

Wilson pulled a jewelry box out of his back pocket and displayed its contents—a necklace with a heart charm—to House.

"It's for Sam," Wilson said.

"I assumed it wasn't for me," House said.

"Does this necklace say, 'I'm so grateful to have you back in my life?' or 'I'm already turning into overly-expensive-gift-guy after three dates?'"

"Which do you want it to say?"

"The first."

"Then that's what it says. Goodnight Wilson."

"I also considered earrings. Do you think earrings might be a better choice?"

"Good. Night. Wilson."

Wilson, who had been lost in a kind of internal jewelry debate, suddenly realized something.

"Cuddy's under the desk isn't she?"

With that, Cuddy emerged from under the desk, her hair mussed and her lipstick slightly smeared.

"Hi Wilson," she said, sheepishly.

"Hi Cuddy," Wilson said, not able to suppress a smile.

"For what it's worth, I like the necklace," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Uh, thanks," Wilson said, backing out of the office. "Sorry to disturb you crazy kids. Have a good night."

"Oh, we will," House and Cuddy said, in unison.

THE END