A/N-

Sorry. I forgot to mention in the A/N in the first chapter...this takes place about 6-8 months after Wilson...

Sorry 'bout that...

As always, I own nothing...DS owns House, but I thank him for sharing his toys...

~ Chapter Two ~

When All That's Left Is Ashes

"What the hell are you doing here?" She was startled and emotional, but she did her best to assert herself. She jutted her chin out, and she straightened her shoulders. If there was anything she could do, it was to make sure House wasn't able to mock her in a situation like this.

He wanted nothing more than to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but their social contract wouldn't let him get that close. It seemed with her, it was always one step forward and a mile stepped back. He took the snarky route; it was always the safe road. "I have a patient. Last I checked, this was an exam room."

She stared at him, then peered around him. "Then where's your patient?" she sniffed.

"It's the invisible man," he informed her, acting as serious as possible. "I found a cure for him."

She blinked, but didn't say anything. She was pretty sure that her disbelief was etched on her face.

"Oh fine, you got me. I'm escaping from Wilson. He just read all those damn Twilight books, and now he thinks he's a vampire." He snorted. "He keeps calling me Bella and keeps telling me he wants to turn me so we can be together forever." He spoke quickly, every word tinged with sarcasm. "You're turn."

She didn't answer him right away. I think you're just hiding from Clinic Duty. Finding a nice, quiet place to nap?" She lifted her eyebrows, momentarily putting her personal issues on hold She could never admit it to him, but she was grateful for the distraction.

"Moi?" His own eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and he pretended to be offended. "Never! Why, I've been diagnosing little old ladies with cat allergies all morning!" He held a hand to his chest, and he pretended to look hurt. "Why do you always doubt me?"

She scoffed, fighting the smile that dared to form on her face. "Because you're usually full of shit." She hopped off the table, tossing her hair back, regaining her composure, and becoming the Alpha Bitch of PPTH once again. "So, if I look at the completed files, I'll find dozens with your signatures?" She called his bluff.

He gave her a crooked grin, not letting on that he knew he was metaphorically screwed. "Of course!" She gave him an incredulous look, and she tried to move past him, but he stopped her. "But I wouldn't go out now, if I were you."

She tilted her head to one side, and she gave him a wry look. "Why?" she said, skeptical of any reason he might give.

"You look like a drowned raccoon," he informed her, steering her towards one of the highly polished stainless steel cabinets. "It's not a mirror, but it'll have to do. As image conscious as you are, you might want to take a look at yourself."

"Oh my god," she uttered harshly, blinking at her reflection. It was clear enough for her to take in her puffy, red eyes, and the twin trails of mascara down her cheeks. "I look like hell."

"Going through a break up will do that to you," he commented mildly.

She froze, then, very slowly, she turned around, and she stared wordlessly at him. Finally, after a few moments of silence, she blinked, and she drew in a deep breath. "How...did you...know," she asked, slowly, her eyes growing even wider.

He shrugged. "For you to get this upset about something, one of three thing would have to happen. Something would happen to your rugrat, I'd have said something completely ad totally stupid, offensive and insensitive, or Lucas would've broke up with you." He gauged her response before continuing. "You wouldn't hide if it was Rachel. In fact, you'd probably take a personal week or something to cope. And I've not had a chance to say something stupid an insensitive in days."

"Don't forget offensive," she muttered. She was then silent for a moment, pondering his words. She then barked out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Got me all figured out, don't you?"

He gave her a weary, crooked grin. "Call 'em like I see 'em. 'Course, I've had twenty years to figure you out."

She sighed, and her shoulders slumped a little. He watched her carefully, and her posture registered defeat. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, and to reassure her that it would all be okay.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. Not yet. And maybe not ever.

So, he limped over to the sink, and he wet a cloth, and he handed the wet cloth to her. "You'll have to reapply your make-up when you get back to your office, anyway," he told her. "You should switch to the water proof kind, as hormonal as you are."

"I'm not pregnant," she sniffed, accepting the cloth.

"I meant menopausal," he shot back, not missing a beat.

She gave him a dry look, then washed her face. He smirked a little at her, realizing how much he had missed those little pot shots they could take at each other. She turned warily back towards him, and very softly, with a hint of uncertainty, she told him, "thanks."

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, but the words rang hollow in his ears. So he just jerkily nodded. "You're welcome," he said, sincerely, then he left her all alone, with an unspoken promise that he wouldn't say anything about what had happened to her.

** ** **

A few days later, Wilson came bursting through his office door. "Have you heard?" he demanded, putting his hands on his hips, giving House an expectant look.

House was reading a magazine article. His feet were propped up on his desk, and his reading glasses were sitting on the end of his nose. He sipped a cup of coffee, then he looked up at his friend. Who the hell uses words like 'hitherto' and 'therefore' today," he commented, ignoring his friend's question.

"Shut up about the damn article!" Wilson chastised him. Then he frowned. "Cuddy and Lucas split up."

"God, I hate practicing medicine in high school," he grumbled. He flipped a page in the magazine.

"Wwwait a minute." Wilson raised an eyebrow. "This is the woman whom you've been pining after for several years now. You've pursued her, though in a half-ass, self destructive way, for the past two years, and now that she's available, you don't...care?"

"She's not available."

Wilson blinked at him, staring at him in silence, giving him time to quantify his comment. When House didn't say anything, he finally blurted out, "what?"

House shook his head; Wilson could be incredibly dense at times. "She's. Not. Available. She's not over him." He scratched at his beard indifferently. "Besides, she's just not that into me." He gave Wilson a pointed look. "Maybe you should date her?" he offered.

Wilson's expression grew puzzled at his deflection. "Are you..afraid...of hurting her?" he asked slowly.

"No, you idiot." He sighed, uncomfortable with the situation. He looked away from Wilson for a moment. "I don't want to get hurt. Not again," he admitted reluctantly. "Besides," he muttered, "she needs to be with her friends now. And I'm not one of 'em."

Wilson bit his lip, and he nodded. "Right," he commented skeptically. "You used to be." He left the office, leaving House alone with his thoughts.