In the few weeks since House and Cuddy had hooked up, it had become obvious to both of them that their tastes (outside the bedroom, that is) were quite different. They both knew this going in, of course, but the reality of it hadn't quite hit home until they'd spent some time together. This fact didn't faze Cuddy a bit, and she didn't realize how much it was worrying House until Wilson approached her in the hospital hallway.

"So, how's it going?" Wilson asked, falling into step with Cuddy as she quickly walked in the direction of her office.

"Fine."

"That's it?"

"You want details? I'm not getting into details with you. Do you have any hospital business we need to discuss?" Cuddy pointedly asked.

"Not really."

Cuddy was now entering her office, and Wilson followed her in and sat in the chair opposite her desk.

"If there's nothing work-related on your mind, this has to be about House. Did he ask you to tell me something?"

"No, and he wouldn't want me saying anything about it, but I can't help it. I want this to work between the two of you, and if he can't, or won't, tell you what's bothering him…"

"You'll do it for him? I'm not sure that's such a great idea, Wilson." They stared at each other for a long moment, and Cuddy finally relented and said, "Okay, spill. What important thing do you think I need to know?"

"He thinks you'll lose interest, after the initial excitement of the, ahem, physical relationship wears off."

"Why would he think that?"

"Because he thinks you have nothing else in common with each other. He's obsessively searching for something you might both enjoy - something that doesn't take place in the bedroom."

"So that was what the whole deal with calling my mother and the go-karts was about?"

"Pretty much."

"This is ridiculous."

"He doesn't think so. Your tastes are pretty different, don't you think?"

"How so?"

"In everything. You're a vegetarian and he's addicted to corned beef Reubens, for instance."

"Don't use that word."

"What word? Vegetarian?"

"Addicted."

"Fine. He loves his red meat, how's that?"

"I don't care what he eats."

"He thinks you do."

"Where does he get these crazy ideas? What else?"

"You're into yoga and jogging and tennis."

"So? I certainly don't expect him to join me in any of that."

"Of course. He knows he can't. But, again – something you can't share. Then there's the music."

"I like all kinds of music."

"Well, he has very specific tastes – mostly jazz, blues, classic rock and classical – but there's some stuff he really can't stand."

"I know – show tunes."

"And the B-52s."

"He hates the B-52s? How could he hate the B-52s?"

Wilson sighed. "He just does."

"Okay, so I won't play those CDs when he's around."

"He has this idea in his head that he'll never find anything you can share that doesn't involve being naked, and therefore the relationship is doomed."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes – enough! I get the message, and I'll deal with him."

"Good. He could just use some reassurance in that area."

"I get it, Wilson." Cuddy glanced at her watch. "Gotta go – I have a meeting in five."

"Okay. Thanks for listening, Cuddy."

"Thanks for watching out for him."

"I guess I can't get out of the habit."

"I don't want you to get out of the habit, Wilson. Even though we're together now, he still needs his friend."

Wilson nodded and then stood up and walked out. Cuddy went off to her meeting, preoccupied with how she could get House to realize the truth – that 'nothing in common' could wind up being so much better than 'everything in common.' She honestly didn't care that he loved monster trucks and teen novel series and soap operas. She hated all that stuff, but she found his childlike enthusiasm for the things he enjoyed to be endearing. He was a big kid, in a lot of ways, but at the same time a brilliant adult who appreciated great art and spoke more languages than anyone she'd ever known. He was a paradox wrapped in an enigma, and she'd rather be with him than with anyone else on earth – even a like-minded, yoga-loving, veggie-eating B-52 fan. She'd have to find a way to make him understand that, in no uncertain terms.