Disclaimer: James Wilson, Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy and the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital are all the intellectual property of David Shore at al.

Part One
Incident at a Finnish Movie

James Wilson blinked when the movie theatre's lights came on. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he managed to hold them back. Although he had in his capacity as an oncologist delivered the worst possible news with a practised professional composure, clear-eyed and without a tremor, the imaginary people who inhabited the movie screen had a way of slipping past all his emotional defences. Maybe that was why he loved the movies so much.

This afternoon's film was part of a Scandinavian film festival, and the audience surrounding him was composed mainly of university students. The movie's director, a bearded Finn in his twenties, rose to accept the audience's applause and to address questions. Most of the questions dealt with technical matters which held no interest for Wilson – filters and film stock and focal lengths – and he paid little attention. Wilson hadn't quite made the transition back into the real world; his thoughts kept returning to the fragile beauty of the movie's heroine and the cruelty of her faithless lover.

The director took one last question from the audience, pointing to a tall, immaculately-dressed woman in the fourth row. She stood to address him, and Wilson recognized his ex-wife, Julie. Julie's auburn hair, long and flowing when Wilson first met her, was now cropped in an efficient bob. Then, she had had the appearance of a Renaissance Madonna filled with compassionate sorrow for the sins of the world. Wilson had been unable to resist her air of sweet melancholy, had longed to bring a smile to her down-turned lips.

Of course, Wilson now knew, he'd misread her entirely. He'd seen what he wanted to see. That depth of soul was only ordinary discontentment with her lot in life. Julie wanted the life she read about in books and saw on movies and television, but reality always fell short of the perfection she envisioned. Wilson fell short, too. She complained that he wasn't ambitious or forceful enough and that his very respectable salary as Head of the Oncology Department was still not enough to pay for entry into the social circle where she properly belonged.

Since their divorce, she'd married a wealthy property developer, who could presumably afford to give her the life he wanted. He wasn't in the audience though. Julie, like Wilson himself, had come to the theatre alone.

Julie's question was sharp and perceptive and the director became quite animated in his reply. Julie responded, and the two became involved in a discussion, ignoring the presence of the rest of the audience. The director seemed to be quite taken by Julie, despite the fact that she was at least a decade older than he was. Wilson had almost forgotten Julie's quick intelligence. His memories of her had been coloured by his feelings of betrayal and anger. He realized that he hadn't been fair to her.

The question and answer session was over and the audience poured out into the streets. Wilson stood next to the wall in the lobby, letting the crowd disperse, waiting for Julie to appear. He thought he had wronged her somehow, if only in his own mind, and he owed her a few polite words.

Julie spotted her ex-husband waiting for her across the lobby and advanced towards him with regal hauteur. She had forgiven Wilson a long time ago for not being the knight in shining armour she had thought he was, but she had no intention of letting Wilson know that. Her new husband had provided her with the social status and material possessions she craved, but ruthless ambition is not quite as attractive a quality in day to day life as it is in romantic fiction. Life with Carl Bensonhurst had given her a new appreciation of Wilson's gentler qualities. She inclined her head slightly, allowing Wilson, who was an inch or two shorter than she was in her high heels, to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Hello, Julie," he said. "I was very impressed by your comments back there. Your insights were quite...insightful."

"Thank you," Julie said. "Not a bad film I thought, but rather manipulative. I do hate it when films try to toy with the audience's feelings so obviously."

She spotted the bearded director across the lobby, where he was showing a great deal of attention to a young female admirer in a low-cut blouse. The admirer, obviously an undergraduate, was giggling and blushing in a very immature and unbecoming way, but the director didn't seem to mind. Julie drew closer to her ex-husband and put her hand on his arm.

"Let's go for a coffee and talk a bit. I always think that the best part of a film is discussing it with someone afterwards," Julie said. "Unfortunately, my husband Carl doesn't share our interest in cinema. He falls asleep as soon as the lights dim. "

"I saw your wedding announcement in the newspaper," Wilson said. "I thought of sending you a card or a note, but I wasn't sure under the circumstances what would be appropriate etiquette."

Julie waved her arm airily, dismissing etiquette, as if such concerns had never mattered to her. Wilson knew that Julie was, in fact, obsessed with what she called 'proper standards of behaviour' and 'the right way of doing things', but he nodded agreeably.

"Yes," she said. "My husband is Carl Bensonhurst. Have you heard of him? He's in real estate."

"So it said in the newspaper."

"And you've married again as well. Is it number four, or have I missed one? Lisa Cuddy, I remember her well. A formidable woman, very dedicated to her work. An unmarried mother, too. You've taken on a lot. It's admirable of you."

"Lisa's wonderful and so is her daughter Emily," Wilson said in a rather strained voice. Julie was making it difficult for him to be polite.

"I have no doubt," Julie said coldly.

She watched the director and the undergraduate walk out of the theatre together. The Finn could not keep his eyes off the young woman's cleavage. Julie's haughty facade suddenly cracked.

"Please ignore me. I'm being catty and I can't help myself. I'm just a miserable woman who can't stand to see other people enjoying life. Oh, James, I'm so unhappy!"

She started to cry and Wilson reached in his pockets to find her a tissue.

--

All signs of Julie's emotional outburst had been carefully concealed by the time the waitress returned with two cups of coffee. Julie picked up her cup, took one sip of the bitter liquid and put the cup aside. Wilson, she knew, would drink anything, even the dishwater they served they served at the hospital, but she had standards.

"I never expected fidelity from Carl," Julie said. "Men in his position live by different rules. They all have their little affairs and their mistresses, but it doesn't mean anything. She's just so young though. Nineteen! She's younger than Carl's daughter!"

Wilson nodded sympathetically. A nineteen year old mistress. How could Carl keep up? He imagined a jaded sophisticate and an excited teenage girl jetting to London or Paris for romantic assignations. She wouldn't care that he was married; the poor naive girl would be overwhelmed by his glamour. Wilson's romantic imagination rather outstripped reality. Carl Bensonhurst was a millionaire of the penny-pinching kind, and he visited his girlfriend in her tiny dorm room at Princeton. His mistress was equally hard-headed and practical and used his 'gifts' to help pay for her tuition.

"I should be happy," Julie said. "I'm living the life I've always wanted. Why aren't I happy? Was I happy with you?"

"No," Wilson said. "You weren't happy and neither was I."

"Are you happy now?" Julie asked.

Wilson hated direct personal questions. He always tried to deflect her attention away from himself. This was one of the things that had frustrated her during their marriage. She had no doubt that Wilson felt things deeply, but he refused to communicate his feelings. Julie could tell Wilson was trying to think of a clever way to avoid answering her. Impulsively, she reached across the table and touched his hand. Wilson looked up and Julie smiled at him, letting him know that she wasn't going to force him to talk if he didn't want to. He smiled back, and Julie almost gasped. Confused by her own reaction, she dropped her eyes and took another sip of the vile coffee. She decided to change the subject.

"There's another movie in the festival series next Saturday afternoon that I really want to see. It's Norwegian. The director's been compared to Hitchcock. "

She had his attention. Wilson was a devout disciple of the British director.

"Really, what's it called?"

"Nine Angel Street. It's about a love affair that leads to murder. I've got the festival program in my purse somewhere."

She pulled out the program, found the listing, and handed it to him.

"I know how much you love Hitchcock. We should see it together so we can discuss it after. Bring Lisa along. I'd love to meet her again."

"Lisa doesn't like subtitled movies. She's says reading the subtitles gives her a headache. Besides she likes to spend Saturday afternoons with Emily. It's sort of their tradition. They're seeing Disney Princesses on Ice today. I'm not sure what they've got planned for next Saturday."

"Well," said Julie. "I'm definitely going to see it. It only has one showing and I'm not going to miss it. If you decide to go, I'll see you there."

Wilson nodded and passed her the program back.

"Keep it," Julie said. "I've already got the date and time written in my day timer. This coffee really is horrible. I'm not going to finish it. I've got to get going. God forbid Carl's dinner should ever be late. I'll see you next week if you decide to see the movie. If not, I'm sure we'll meet again at a hospital fundraiser or something. Carl and I go to all the charity events; it's good social networking and he gets tax deductions."

Wilson stood up and kissed her on the cheek again. He was smiling at her again, and her heart was beating faster. She hoped she wasn't blushing. How dare he still have this effect on her!

--

After Julie left, Wilson called the waitress back and ordered a piece of pie and a refill. He was aware of Julie's affectations, and her tendency to over-dramatize the events of her life. Still, she had seemed genuinely upset. Wilson hated to see her in distress. He wished there was something he could do to make her happy.

--

When Lisa and Emily returned from Disney Princesses on Ice, Wilson was watching the last few minutes of a football game. His feet were on the coffee table and a cold beer was his hand. Emily's cat, Munchausen, was sleeping on Wilson's lap so he couldn't get up to greet his wife and stepdaughter. Lisa leaned over to kiss his forehead, and he smiled up at her. Emily grabbed Munchausen and took the protesting cat back to her bedroom.

"Did you make dinner?"

"No," Wilson replied. "I've had a lazy afternoon. Saw a movie instead of doing anything remotely productive. Want me to order a pizza?"

"I'm not hungry. Emily and I had hot dogs. I was feeling quite guilty, thinking that you made dinner, and then I spoiled our appetites eating stadium hot dogs."

"I guess my laziness worked out for the best then."

"This time," said Lisa. "Who's winning?"

"I'm not sure. The ones in purple, I think. "

Lisa laughed and settled next to her husband on the couch.