House was completely in the dark but Cuddy was armed with at least some of the facts, so she was the first to piece it all together.

"You're Ellen," she said, gaping at her. Then, with a slow and scornful shake of her head: "You fucking bitch."

House looked at Cuddy, utterly baffled.

"Hey now," he said, gently, touching the sleeve of her coat.

"Let me explain. . ." Ellen stammered, feeling her face get hot.

"Actually, it's pretty fucking self-explanatory," Cuddy said.

"I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to hurt anyone. It was never supposed to go this far. . ." Ellen said.

"Will someone explain to me what the fuck is going on here?" House barked.

"Tell him, Ellen," Cuddy said, putting her hands on her hips.

Ellen looked to Cuddy, then back to House. She was having a hard time formulating the right words.

Disgusted, Cuddy stepped in: "If you won't tell him, I will. Your girlfriend here is a regular Mata Hari. She joined my yoga class and pretended to be my friend. She called herself Ella. You were George, by the way."

"What?" House said, his eyes widening.

"Oh yeah," Cuddy said, all worked up now. "And it gets better. We talked about you. She gave me advice. I thought she cared about me."

"I do care about you!" Ellen said.

Cuddy laughed derisively.

"Oh save it, honey."

"What kind of advice?" House said, setting his jaw.

"Naturally, she told me to end things with you. Surprise, surprise."

"I'm sorry. Truly I am," Ellen said, her voice shaking. "But you're not the only one who was hurt here! My boyfriend was cheating on me! With you!"

"I would never, ever deceive a friend," Cuddy said. "But then again, we were never really friends, were we?"

Ellen looked down at the table.

"No, I suppose not," she said.

House, who now fully comprehended the story, looked like he was about to explode.

"How could you do this?" he yelled at Ellen. "What kind of monster does something like this?"

She cowered a bit in the face of his anger.

"I was jealous! I just wanted to meet my rival, see what I was up against. I never meant to hurt anyone. It all just . . . spiraled out of control."

"I thanked you," Cuddy said, tears stinging her eyes. Her rage had somewhat subsided, now replaced by something more akin to hurt feelings. "I thanked you for being such a good friend."

"I'm sorry. I'm ashamed of myself. But that doesn't change the fact that you were having an affair with my boyfriend!"

"Ex boyfriend," House hissed.

Ellen looked up him pleadingly.

"But things were getting better between us! We were moving on!"

"You're truly delusional, you know that?" he sneered. "I'm serious, Ellen. Exactly how deep does your denial run?"

"I know you love her more!" Ellen said, pathetically. "But there's all different kinds of love!"

"Don't make me say something cruel," House spat, his eyes flashing dangerously.

At that moment, Julia, who had been watching the whole tableaux from her table, marched over.

"My sister makes a scene in the middle of a restaurant, and—what a shock!—Greg House is involved," she said.

"Lovely to see you, too, Julia," House said, through gritted teeth.

"C'mon Lisa, I paid the bill. We're going." Julia grabbed her sister by the arm.

Cuddy looked at Ellen, then looked at House—then allowed herself to be led to the exit.

Immediately, House began to limp after them.

"Greg! Don't!" Ellen cried. "Talk to me!"

But he was halfway out the door.

"Cuddy!" he shouted, limping quickly toward them in the parking lot.

"Lisa, get in the car," Julia instructed. She had already gotten in herself, and was sitting in the driver's seat, her seatbelt on, impatiently idling the engine.

"Just give me five minutes," House begged, slightly out of breath. "Five minutes."

Cuddy closed her eyes tightly, as though trying to shut out the world so she could be alone with her thoughts.

"I'll be right back," she said finally to Julia—and pulled House away from the car, to the curb, out of Julia's earshot.

"This doesn't change anything," she said to him.

"It changes everything! You broke up with me under false pretenses. You were. . .brainwashed."

"First of all, I didn't 'break up' with you because we were never officially together. Second of all, I wasn't brainwashed. Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do, House. Not even an alleged good friend."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea she was capable of something like this," House said.

"I've got to hand it to her," Cuddy said, with a somewhat contemptuous smile. "She's tougher than she looks, I'll give her that. She fights for her man."

"I'm not her man," House said. "I've never been her man. I'm your man."

"No," Cuddy said, beginning to tear up again. "You're not."

"I feel like we can start all over again," he said, eagerly. "Try again. I'm breaking up with Ellen. We're through."

"Don't do that," Cuddy warned.

"It's already done."

"You'll be alone then. Because I'm not coming back, House. Don't you see? This is just more insanity. It's always like this between us—crazy, out of control, unsustainable. And I'm putting an end to it, once and for all. For both our sakes. I know this was my fault. I take total blame. I invited you into my therapy sessions. I invited you into my bed. And now I'm uninviting you, House. We're through."

"We'll never be through!" he said, defiantly.

"House, go back to Ellen. She keeps you sane."

"What's so fucking great about being sane?" House said.

She bit her lip, looked at him mournfully.

"I'm going now," she said. "Don't try to contact me. No calls. No emails. No more midnight visits. It's over, House. For real this time."

She walked away, briskly, and got into the car. Julia peeled away before House could say anything else.

"Fuck!" he screamed loudly, into the parking lot.

A family of three, holding doggy bags, were on their way to their Minivan. The mother covered her young daughter's ears; the father gave House a death stare.

"Sorry," House said, under his breath. He crumpled to the curb, sat there, staring at the spot where Julia's car had just been idling.

A few minutes later, Ellen emerged from the bar.

"You forgot your coat," she said, putting his coat around his shoulders, shawl style, like he was some sort of disaster victim, being tended to by the Red Cross.

She sat down next to him.

"You okay?" she said.

He turned to her. And in that moment, she knew it was really over. There was nothing but contempt in his eyes.

"Here," he said, handing her his car keys. "Take the car. Go home. Pack up your shit and get out of my life."

"But I. . . I have no place to go!" she said.

He roughly grabbed her phone out of her hand, hit a speed dial number.

"Carla?" he said— Ellen's best friend. "It's Greg. I just kicked Ellen out. Can she stay at your place for a while? Yes, I know I'm an asshole. Good. She'll be over soon."

He tossed the phone back to her.

"Carla is expecting you," he said.

"What about you? Where are you going to go?"

"I'll get a cab to the hospital. You have 3 hours to clear out."

"Let's just talk about this," she said. She went to take his hand, but he violently yanked it away. "You're being hasty. You're angry. I understand that."

"It's one thing to hurt me," House said. "But you hurt her and that's it. You're out of my life. You're dead to me."

"That's a good one," Ellen said, bitterly.

"Meaning?"

"Like I could hurt you. You have to care about someone for them to hurt you."

"Finally, we see eye to eye," he said, coldly.

"Carla's right. You are a fucking asshole, you know that?" she shouted.

"And you're a pathetic, manipulative cunt."

For a moment, they were both shocked. They had never spoken to each other that way.

Finally House got up from the curb.

"Three hours," he said, pointing at her.

He began to limp toward the bar.

"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" she called after him.

"Where does it look like I'm going?" he said. "Inside the bar to wait for my cab."

"No!"

"No?"

"I don't think you should be alone in a bar right now. I'm afraid you'll have a drink. I'm 12 years sober and I want a drink."

"No one's having a drink," House said. "Not me. Not you. Now leave."

"I never wanted things to end like this," she said.

He sighed.

"Well, life sucks like that," he said.

He went inside.

The bar was incongruously busy, with happy, oblivious people going about their lives, playing pool and throwing back drinks. House couldn't get out of there fast enough. But before he called the cab, he called back Carla:

"Do me a favor," he said to her. "Lock up all your liquor before she arrives."

######

Three weeks later, there was a loud banging on Cuddy's door.

She had been bracing herself for this moment. Frankly, she was surprised it had taken him so long. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: 9:30. Well, at least he was making a scene at more reasonable hours these days, she thought, ironically.

But when she got to the front door, she was surprised not to see her grizzled, frazzled, ardent suitor, but one Ellen Chalmers.

"I'm sorry to just barge in on you like this," Ellen said haltingly. "But you wouldn't take my calls."

"That's because we have nothing to talk about," Cuddy said, coldly.

"Just give me five minutes. Please. I drove all the way from Princeton."

Cuddy peered at her. There was something about Ellen's face—open and uncomplicated, with that Midwestern guilelessness—that made her hard to resist. That was why she'd become such fast friends with her to begin with.

"Five minutes," she said, leading Ellen to the couch. "That's it."

"Thank you."

"I'm drinking wine," Cuddy said, gesturing toward her glass of pinot grigio. "Want some?"

"No. . . I don't drink," Ellen said.

"Oh shit," Cuddy said, genuinely abashed. "I forgot. Sorry. I have apple juice?"

"Do you have any sparkling water? Maybe with some lime."

"Coming right up."

She hurried into the kitchen, fixed the drink, then sat across from her.

"Okay, I'm listening. What do you have to say?"

"I want to say I'm sorry, again," Ellen said, taking a sip of her water.

"Fine," Cuddy said. "You're sorry."

"I really do like and admire you so much."

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"But that's not why I'm here."

"No?"

"No, I'm here because. . .I think you should take House back."

Cuddy almost spit out her wine.

"What?"

"He hates me now. Whatever it was we had, it's long over."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"No you're not."

"I am," Cuddy protested. "Back when I thought you were Ella, you actually made a lot of sense: Ellen kept him on track. So I guess, you keep him on track."

"They don't write sonnets about keeping someone on track."

"They also don't write sonnets about driving your car through someone's house."

"They probably do, actually," Ellen said, with a half shrug. "The point is this: Do you know what I'd give to have House love me the way he loves you? Hell, to love me half as much as the way loves you?"

"Oh, he loves me alright," Cuddy said, sadly.

"And you love him. The kind of love everyone dreams of having—big, passionate . . . operatic."

"Most operas are tragedies."

"Yours doesn't have to be! Look, you know what House told me my biggest sin was? Not lying to him. Not betraying him. But hurting you. He'll protect you to the end of time. No man is ever going to love you the way he does."

"Sometimes love isn't enough. We're bad for each other. You said so yourself."

"Stop quoting the woman who was actively trying to break you up!" Ellen said, exasperated.

And for a second, they both couldn't help but to laugh.

"Look, all I'm saying is this," she continued. "House is sober. For real this time. If the past few weeks haven't driven him back to drugs, nothing will."

"How can you be sure he's sober?"

"Because he's still going to NA. On different nights from me, of course. But he's going. . ."

Cuddy thought about that for a second.

"That's good," she said quietly. "That's really good."

"He's sober and he adores you. And your kid, by the way. He has, like, 100 pictures of her on his cellphone."

Talk of Rachel was too much for her. A fat tear dripped slowly down Cuddy's cheek.

"A hundred?" she said.

"At least," Ellen said, handing her tissue. "Look, there's all different kinds of romantic love out there. There's young love. There's love that stems from familiarity and comfort, like what my parents have. There's unrequited love—I'm intimately familiar with that," she added with a self-deprecating chuckle. "And then there's what you guys have. The kind of all-consuming, red hot, passionate love that can never be extinguished. And that's what everyone in this life shoots for! Are you really going to throw that away?"

Cuddy wiped her eyes and stared at her, incredulously.

"Why are you saying all this?"

"Because, believe it or not, I still believe in love. I believe in happy endings. And I want you guys to get yours. "

######

The worst part about House's foul mood was that there was no end in sight. No Cuddy to lift him from his darkness. Not even Ellen, who at least had the capacity to keep him from turning into a total jerk.

His team, as a result, were completely miserable. How many times could your boss suggest that you bought your medical degree on eBay or call you a "shit for brains," or insist that you spend the night at the hospital because you were "obviously incapable of rational thought during waking hours," before it became unbearable?

That's what House's team was thinking as he went on one of his rants—"a telephone psychic would have more insight into our patient's condition than you do!"—and Foreman came in, looking official.

"You're needed in HR," he said to House.

House waved his hand at him, in a dismissive way.

"Later," he said. "I'm tossing my ideas into a dark abyss, also known as a DDX with my team."

"Not later. Now," Foreman said, sternly.

House rolled his eyes in a "why me?" sort of way. "Doesn't that little weasel in HR have anyone else to badger?"

"He does. You're just his favorite," Foreman said.

"Fine. And maybe while I'm gone one of you can call an actual telephone psychic. I'm sure she'll at least pretend to have a diagnosis."

He limped out into the hallway.

After he was gone, a sneaky grin crossed Foreman's face.

"What are you smirking about?" Taub said.

"Nothing." Then he turned to Chase: "How do you feel about running this department?"

######

"What did I do this time?" House said petulantly, folding himself into a chair in HR. "Call a fat person fat? Call a bitchy person a bitch? Tell a dying person they were toast? Who do I have to apologize to? Where do I have to sign?"

"Why didn't you tell the hospital you had applied for a fellowship at Scarsdale General?" the HR guy, whose name was Bob Pratt, said.

House squinted at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he said. "I didn't apply for any fellowship."

"Well someone applied on your behalf. And you got the job. It's a year long fellowship to assess the hospital's need for a department of diagnostics, with the option of hiring you at the end if all parties agree to move forward."

House's mouth dropped open. He didn't know what to say.

Pratt chuckled.

"In the 14 years I've worked with you, House, I can honestly say this is the first time I've ever seen you speechless."

"If I didn't apply for the fellowship, who did?" House said.

"Do you know anyone at Scarsdale General?" Then Pratt furrowed his brow. "Wait…isn't that where Dr. Cuddy landed? You don't think. . ."

"I honestly have no idea," House said. "It could be her. Or maybe. . .someone is fucking with us."

Pratt shook his head.

"You didn't actually just use the word 'fucking' in front of the HR director, did you?" he said, seriously. (Being serious about such matters sort of came with the job description.)

"Sorry," House said. "It just seems like the world has been screwing with me lately."

"Better," Pratt said, frowning. "Slightly. . . So do you want the job or not, House? Because if you do, there's a lot of paperwork that needs to be filled out."

"I do," House said. "But I need to talk to someone first. To make sure there's no mix-up."

"Okay, House. The sooner the better. The fellowship starts in two weeks. " Then he gave a tiny smile. "I will say this: If you do take the job, I don't envy the HR director at Scarsdale General."

"I love you, too, Bob," House said, popping up.

As he headed back to his office, House's head was spinning. It had to be Cuddy, right? Who else? But if it was her, why all the secrecy? What's more, she had made it perfectly clear she never wanted to see him again. Then could it be Ellen? She had proven to be more Machiavellian—more capable of deceit and long-term trickery—than he had ever suspected. But, if so, what could her end game possibly be?

He was lost in thought as he opened the door to his office. It was unusually quiet. He jerked his head toward the DDx room, prepared to chew out his team for their lack of brainstorming, when he did a double take. There, lying on top of the conference table, in a red pencil skirt and sleeveless black blouse—her legs crossed at the ankle, her head propped up on her elbow—was Lisa Cuddy.

He actually shook his head like a dog to make sure he wasn't dreaming. (He had literally had a dream like this once—right down to the red skirt.)

"That was probably the first time you were ever called into HR for good news, huh?" she said, with a tiny smile.

He stepped into the DDx room, still in a daze.

"So it was you?" he said.

"Who else?" she said, teasingly.

"I don't know. Ellen maybe? I was confused. I am confused."

"A few months ago, you talked about taking that fellowship and moving in with me and Rachel. I'm here to say that offer is still on the table." Then she laughed. "Quite literally, I guess."

He gaped at her. The sexiness of her lying on that table, combined with the eeriness of the DDx room being cleared out, and the impossibility of getting everything he had hoped for gave him a strong sense of unreality. But he wasn't on drugs. And this wasn't a hallucination.

"What changed?" he sputtered. "Four weeks ago, you banished me from your life—permanently."

"I had a visit from Ellen, believe it or not," Cuddy said. "And she talked some sense into me."

"Ellen?"

"Yeah. She's very persuasive, apparently. She pointed out that love like ours is pretty rare. That it should be treasured, preserved. That it shouldn't be taken for granted."

"I . . . agree."

"So I'm willing to try this, again, House. And for real this time. Trusting you, believing in you, believing in us. The whole bit."

"I've always believed in us," he said.

"I know, House," she said. "But if I'm going to let you back in to my life, I do have a few stipulations."

"Of course. . .anything."

"Weekly NA meetings for you. Al Anon for me. And you'll start seeing that therapist Anita recommended."

"Done," House said.

"And you'll start coming to yoga with me."

"Absolutely," he said, already trying to figure out the logistics, with his cane.

She laughed.

"Just kidding on that last one," she said, mischievously. Then she sat up. "Come here, handsome."

He stepped over to her. She scooted to the edge of the table, wrapped her legs around him.

"I love you," she said, kissing him.

"I love you, too," he said, kissing her back.

"I'm sorry I put you through this."

"I'm sorry, too. For everything."

He continued to kiss her, getting turned on beyond all measure.

"You're so fucking beautiful, you know that?" he said.

"So are you." she said, biting his bottom lip sexily.

"I want to fuck you so badly right now—you have no idea," he whispered, kissing her throat and beginning to dig into her skirt. "Who cares if we get caught? Neither of us work here anymore."

"Easy there, tiger," she said, giggling, and straightening up before things got too out of control. "I promise we can recreate this little scene back at my house. I have a very ample dining room table."

She hopped off the table.

Slightly chastened, he stepped away.

"Cuddy, can I ask you something?" he said. "Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why all the secrecy? Why all the drama?"

"Because it's us," she laughed. "Would you have it any other way?"

EPILOGUE

On a Tuesday afternoon, at the Crimson and Clover flower shop—a charming, bohemian space, teaming with wild and domestic flowers and ceramic pots and assorted bric a brac—the door chime sounded, indicating there was a new customer.

Ellen looked up—and couldn't believe her eyes.

There was House—looking fit and happy and healthy, in a snug black tee-shirt and faded jeans, his a hair a bit longer than she'd last seen it, a tiny, uncertain grin on his face.

"Hey you," he said.

"Hey yourself," she said, stunned.

He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I was, uh, in the neighborhood so I thought I'd pick up some flowers."

"You've come to the right place," she said, with false cheer. Happy as she was to see him, she couldn't deny that it was going to hurt a little to watch him pick out flowers for Lisa Cuddy.

"What kind of flowers does she like?" Ellen said, all business.

"I don't know?" House said, eyeing her. "What kind do you like?"

"Me? Well, I like to keep it simple."

"Sounds good"

"Lilies."

"Okay," he nodded, as she began to assemble the bouquet.

"And daisies."

"Sure, those too."

"And delphinium, of course."

"Of course," he said, mirthfully.

"And then you can finish with some ferns and vines, for a little bit of green."

She clipped the greens and added them to the bouquet, then expertly sealed the flowers with twine and wrapped them in tissue paper.

"She'll want to put those in water, right away," she said, handing them to him. "And she should add these tablets to preserve freshness."

"Got it," he said. Then his voice softened a bit: "You look good, Ellen."

"So do you."

"I am good. I'm excellent in fact."

"I'm happy to hear that, Greg. Really."

"I know you are," he said. "And you? You're doing okay?"

"I am doing well. I got an apartment a few blocks from the store. I can bike to work! It makes my life a lot easier. And I got a little puppy from the pound. He's a Golden Retriever. His name is Rufus."

"Rufus the Golden Retriever," House said approvingly. "Excellent." Then he reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?".

"Don't be silly," she said. "It's on the house, no pun intended."

"Never heard that one before," he cracked. "But seriously. We both know I'm paying. So how much?"

"65 dollars," she said.

"Really? Remind me again why I was the one who always bought dinner?"

She laughed.

"It's a living," she said.

He paid for the flowers, then—much to her surprise— handed them right back to her.

"For you," he said, with a little bow. "My highly inadequate way of saying I'm sorry. And thank you."

She felt abashed, and girlishly shocked. She was quite sure she was blushing.

"You don't need to apologize to me," she said.

"Of course I do. You were nothing but good to me. And I was nothing but a dick to you."

"Well, apology unnecessary but accepted. We both made mistakes. Lots of then. And besides, I thought you once said you couldn't buy flowers for a woman who owned a flower shop," she teased.

"That was dumb. I mean, who better to buy flowers for? You obviously love them."

And he grinned.

Then he said, "Look, I know that you talked to Cuddy and helped her change her mind."

"I just gave her a nudge to do what was already in her heart. That's all she needed, just a tiny nudge."

"Well, thanks."

"You're welcome."

He blinked at her.

"I miss you," he said sincerely. "And as insane as this might sound, Cuddy misses you, too. We were wondering if maybe you might like to come over for dinner next week?"

"Oh God, Greg. That would be weird, right? I mean, I'd feel like such a third wheel."

"Actually, Cuddy has a friend she wants you to meet," he said, shuffling his feet. "His name's Alan. He's a pediatric oncologist at the hospital. Horrible dresser. Can't play chess worth a damn. Makes these cringingly corny jokes, but he's…okay company, I guess. He insists on having lunch with me every day at the hospital. Anyway, he's recently divorced—his third marriage, by the way. So he's kind of like you—an eternal optimist. We thought you guys might get along. What do you say? Next Thursday. I promise Cuddy won't cook."

Ellen took a big whiff of her bouquet and smiled. She hadn't felt this carefree in months.

"I'd love to," she said.

THE END