House had this down to a science. Or maybe, he thought, it was more of an art form. Yes – the art of solitude. He leaned back into his leather couch and smiled to himself. With a scotch in his hand, clad in a soft old tee shirt and his striped pajama pants, watching the humorous idiocy of "The Real Housewives of New Jersey," he was supremely self-satisfied. He'd needed a night like this for a long time. Tonight, he didn't have to listen to Wilson's morose musings about what had gone wrong with Sam, while futilely trying to bowl without aggravating his leg. He didn't have to listen to Arlene Cuddy's snide jabs at her daughter's lack of parenting and relationship skills. He didn't have to try to look presentable for Cuddy or watch his language in front of Rachel. He could wear what he wanted, eat what he wanted, watch whatever he wanted on the tube, and listen to whatever music he was in the mood for, all without Cuddy's poorly disguised expressions of disapproval at his sometimes strange preferences.

The last couple of months had been full of obligations, and he'd felt as if every spare minute he had was spoken for. Wilson had been needier than usual since Sam had left, and House had been there pretty much whenever Wilson wanted to get together. Cuddy had been generous in giving up time with him so he could spend more of it with Wilson, and that made him feel guilty enough that he'd spent nearly every Wilson-free evening with her. So when could he be alone – just to think, to read, to play the piano? When could he just be, in the comforting cocoon of his own apartment, without having to make the effort to live up to someone else's expectations? He loved Cuddy – really, he did – and he had a tender spot for Rachel, too, if he was being honest with himself. But he was starting to realize that he also loved being alone sometimes, that constant togetherness was stifling to him. He needed a break from it, but Cuddy and Wilson seemed not to understand that. Sure, Cuddy had once again generously released him from duty (for her birthday dinner with Mom, of all things), but only when she thought he was doing it to be with Wilson. Then she tricked him into it anyway when she found out he'd bailed on Wilson too. If it was okay to miss it to see a film festival with Wilson, why wasn't it okay to miss it to be on his own for one night? He felt managed by the two of them lately, no longer his own person. So tonight, he'd done what he'd told Cuddy he wouldn't do again – lied to her in order to get his private time.

He was dozing in front of the TV when the phone rang around 11:00. He glanced at the caller ID – Cuddy. She probably figured he'd be home from bowling by now, and was just checking in. Or maybe she'd compared notes with Wilson again and was pissed at him. To answer or not to answer? That was the question. He sighed and answered after five rings.

"Hi Cuddy."

"Hi. Are you home? I was just about to leave a message."

"Yeah, I'm home."

"How was bowling?"

He hesitated. She sounded sincere, like it wasn't a trap and he could easily keep up the lie. But he didn't want to. He wanted to be able to be honest with her and still have it be okay that he'd taken the night off.

"Actually, we wound up not going bowling."

"Why? Was Wilson in a funk again?"

"No."

"Was your leg bothering you?"

"No worse than usual."

"So, what did you two do instead?"

"Nothing. I mean, we just cancelled for tonight and I've been loafing at home."

"You could've come over here if you were free."

"I know. Look, Cuddy, I just wanted a night home alone for a change."

"Getting tired of us already?"

"No, that's not it."

"Okay."

"Okay? You're really okay about this with no further explanation?"

"I'm not an idiot, House. You've been itching for a night off for weeks now. You don't have to use Wilson as an excuse if you need some time to yourself."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Lisa Cuddy?"

"I don't know. I guess being with my mom reminded me how crazy it is to expect perfection from anyone. Don't take that the wrong way."

"I'm very far from perfect – we both know that."

"You're lovably imperfect, and, anyway, there's nothing wrong with needing and taking some alone time."

"So, can I have 'some alone time', like, at least one night a week?"

"You don't need my permission."

"I know. But I still wanna know it's okay with you, that I'm not disappointing you every time I need a break."

"You're not disappointing me. Truth is, sometimes I need a break too. You can be a handful, you know?"

House laughed. "No doubt about that."

"Or a mouthful."

"Oh, Cuddy – you naughty little vixen. Don't say stuff like that, or I'll get so horny I'll be forced to brave the bitter cold and ride over there right now."

"Would I do that to you?"

"Yeah. Sometimes just the sound of your voice…"

"Goodnight, House. See you tomorrow."

"'Night, Cuddy."

"Enjoy your solitude."

"Thanks. You too."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Don't I know it. Love you."

"Love you too."

They hung up, and House sat up on the couch, still wrapped in the chenille blanket he'd had over him. He rubbed a hand over his face and grinned. Solitude was indeed great, especially when he knew it wasn't a permanent condition.