"And get this, his stage name is . . . Sparkles!" Wilson reported gleefully.

"Interesting," House said, not looking up.

"Interesting?" Wilson said, nearly beside himself. "I just told you that the head of OB-GYN at Jersey Memorial spends his weekends performing as a drag queen named Sparkles and all you can muster is interesting?"

House shrugged.

"I said it was interesting because it's interesting. Although I would've gonna with Gina Cology myself."

Wilson folded his arms.

"Okay, what gives?"

"It's a play on Gynecology. . ."

"Not talking about the drag name. You've been acting weird all day. And you've barely touched your lunch. . . or, more alarmingly, my lunch. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just not hungry."

"Okay, now I know something's bothering you."

House looked at him cautiously, hesitated.

"If I tell you something do you promise not to get that annoyingly gassy look on your face you get when you feel like you've been a good influence on me?"

"I can make no such promise," Wilson said.

House sighed a bit.

"I've been seeing Nolan again," he said, taking a sip of his Coke.

"House! That's wonderful ! That's just . ." Wilson felt his own enthusiasm bubbling up and he tried to temper it. "That's great," he said more evenly. "So is that why you're upset? Rough session? Is Nolan picking at some uncomfortable scabs?"

"First of all, no. Second of all, ew."

"Then what?"

"It has to do with Cuddy."

"Well, knock me over with a feather."

House shot him a dirty look, then continued:

"You know that fancy new hospital file sharing program we signed up for?"

"Yeah. . ."

"It allows top administrators to access patient files. All patient files."

House looked up, to see if Wilson was following him. He wasn't.

"Cuddy read the transcripts of my sessions with Nolan."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Cuddy wouldn't do that."

"And yet, she did."

Suddenly, Wilson gave a grim laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" House said.

"Well, you've got to at least appreciate the irony of this a little."

"What irony?"

"You read Stacy's therapy file."

"Of course you'd bring that up," House said.

"Seemed relevant," Wilson countered.

"That was totally different," House said, defensively.

"Oh yeah. How so?"

"Because. . ."

"Yes?" Wilson said, teasingly. "I'm waiting."

"Because . . .it was predictable behavior on my part," House said.

"So you're saying Stacy should've taken extra measures to hide her patient files, knowing that you were obsessed with her?"

"I'm saying that I always do reckless, insensitive, ill-advised things like that. Cuddy, on the other hand. . .doesn't."

"You got me there. So why do you think she did it?"

"I dunno. Morbid curiosity? Schadenfreude?"

"You think Cuddy takes pleasure in your misery?"

"I can't think of any other reason she'd want to read my file."

"Why did you read Stacy's file?"

"To find out how she felt about me. . .about us."

"Huh," Wilson said knowingly.

And the two men stared at each other.

######

Cuddy had tried calling House all weekend, but he never picked up.

She left three voicemail messages—the first a simple "please call me"; the second, a fumbling attempt at an apology ("I know there's nothing I can say to make this right, but at least let me try"); the third, a rather rambling series of excuses ("you never talk to me anymore"; "I feel like we've become strangers"; "I just had to know where your head was at")—before finally giving it up as a lost cause.

And she felt like shit.

It wasn't so much that she worried he might actually report her to the review board (although she kind of deserved it). House was many things. A narc wasn't one of them.

It wasn't even that she felt guilty over betraying him—although she did.

Mostly, she was worried that her snooping was going to mess with his therapy. House going back to therapy was the bravest, smartest thing he had done in a long while. She was proud of him. And if her recklessness had somehow affected that, she'd never forgive herself.

So she did something stupid, even if she did it for the right reason.

She looked up Nolan's records to see if House had shown for his Monday session.

Once again, she typed GREGORY HOUSE into the patient search engine.

She waited for the long transcript to show up on her screen.

Would House send her coded messages though his conversation with Nolan? Lash out at her directly? Make up cruel lies just to hurt her feelings?

She would never find out. When the page opened, it read:

ACCESS DENIED.

#####

Several hours earlier, House showed up for his Monday session with Nolan.

He sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and gave Nolan a leery look.

"What's wrong?" Nolan said.

"Nothing," House said. "But I need a favor."

Nolan furrowed his brow.

"I'm not a genie. I'm a psychiatrist."

"I didn't ask for a wish, I asked for a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to stop uploading our sessions to the hospital mainframe."

"That's standard procedure House. We have this new file. . ."

"I know. A new file sharing system. But the thing is, I don't want my files accessed."

"They can't be accessed by just anyone. There are channels to go through. You need a passcode."

"And who has those passcodes?"

Nolan stared at him.

"Head administrators," he said, getting it. "You're worried that Dr. Cuddy is going to read your files. I understand your concerns, House. But Dr. Cuddy is a professional. I can say with complete confidence that she would never. . ."

"Don't be so sure," House said sharply.

Nolan did a bit of a doubletake.

"She read your files?"

"Indeed. She said Forrest Whitaker could play you in the movie version."

"I like to think of myself more as a Denzel Washington type," Nolan said. Then he regained focus. "That's a horrible breach of ethics and hospital protocol. She could get fired."

"She could get fired if either of us reported her. Which, of course, neither of us are going to do, right?"

"I'm honor-bound to . . ."

"Nolan, if you even think of reporting her I will make your life a living hell," House snarled. "I swear to you, you have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm just being honest. Isn't that what therapy is all about?"

There was a tense silence.

"Okay, I won't report her," Nolan said finally. Then he cocked his head: "You're awfully protective of a woman who just violated your most sacred privacy."

House shrugged.

"I'm no narc," he said, folding his arms. "And I don't associate with them, either."

"Understood," Nolan said. "And I'll make sure our transcripts are protected by a passcode that she has no possible access to."

"Thank you," House said, his voice softening a bit.

"So. . . this kind of dovetails nicely with what I was planning on talking about with you today anyway."

"How little you look like Denzel Washington?"

"Dr. Cuddy—and her feelings for you."

"Oh . . . that."

"So why do you think she read your transcripts?"

"I honestly have no clue," House said.

"You must have some theories."

"Mostly, I've been replaying our sessions in my mind. On a scale from 1 to Wilson, exactly how pathetic do I come across?"

"Not pathetic at all House. It takes strength to ask for help."

"And less strength to whine like a little bitch."

"Has she apologized to you? Tried to explain herself?"

"I haven't really given her the opportunity. She, uh, left me a few voicemail messages."

"And what did she say?"

"That she wanted an all-access pass to my head."

"Why would she want that?"

"I have no idea."

"House. . .remember when we talked about the beginning of your relationship with Cuddy?"

"You're such a pervert, Dr. Nolan. If you have a copy of The Kama Sutra in the office it might go more smoothly this time."

Nolan, as ever, ignored him.

"You expressed some concern that, since the relationship started under such extreme and emotional conditions, it might be less than solid."

"Yeah . . . so?"

"What about your breakup? Wasn't that under extreme and emotional conditions, too?"

House shrugged.

"Is there any chance that the breakup isn't quite as solid as you think?" Nolan asked.

"It's pretty solid. What with me getting married and all."

"Exactly House! You didn't even give Dr. Cuddy a chance to have second thoughts, to reconsider her decision."

"I begged her not to do it," House said. "But her mind was already made up."

"And where were you the next day—or two days later—if Dr. Cuddy wanted to sit down and talk?"

"Objection!" House said, in a booming courtroom voice. "Leading the witness!"

"You were at the hotel, right? Numbing yourself with porn, pills, and prostitutes."

"Nice alliteration, doc."

"You didn't exactly create an environment for reconciliation, did you."

"How many times have I told you: There wasn't going to be any reconciliation!" House said. He was a shouting now. Nolan had obviously touched a nerve.

"How do you know that?"

"Because. . . she was sure," House said, his voice quieting.

"And I repeat: How do you know that?"

"Because. . .I predicted it."

"You predicted that Dr. Cuddy would have a health scare and you'd take a vicodin?"

"Don't be cute. You know what I mean. I predicted that she'd come to her senses and break up with me."

"So when she told you she loved you, she was being irrational. But when she broke up with you, she was being sensible."

House jiggled his leg a bit.

"Something like that."

"You never really felt safe in the relationship, did you?"

"Does anyone ever really feel safe in a relationship?"

"Yes House. People do all the time."

"Well, good for them," he muttered.

"You told me last week that you married this Dominka person to prove to Cuddy you were the marrying kind."

"So?"

"Isn't it also possible you married her to put the final nail in the coffin with Cuddy? To make reconciliation impossible?"

"Why wouldn't I want to reconcile with Dr. Cuddy? That's crazy. That's all I've ever wanted."

"And yet you created a scenario where reconciliation was virtually impossible."

House was quiet for a long time. He rested his head in his hands.

"I'm an idiot," he said.

"You are skilled at self-sabotage, I give you that."

"Thanks for cheering me up," House said.

"I'm not here to cheer you up. I'm here to give you insight into your behavior."

"Which is the behavior of an idiot."

Nolan gave a sad smile.

"I want to get back to Cuddy and the transcripts. You said she was looking for an all-access pass to your head. In other words, she also wanted insight into your behavior. Which I'm sure she found baffling and hurtful."

"She knows me too well to be baffled by my behavior. Cuddy knows I tend to. . .lash out when hurt."

"Intellectually, she may know that. Emotionally, maybe she's not so sure. In a strange way, House, reading those transcripts might've been good for her."

"How so?"

"To see that you miss her. That you still love her. . ."

"She already knows those things," House said, stubbornly.

"What convinced her the most?" Nolan said, musingly. "All the whores you slept with? Or the one that you married?"

######

That night, several hours after Rachel had gone to bed, there was a knock on Cuddy's door.

The only person who knocked on her door this time of night was House. But he wasn't even speaking to her.

She peered through the peephole. Damned if he wasn't standing in her doorway, dressed in a black tee-shirt and dark jeans, looking on edge.

She literally had no idea what to expect. Had he come to accept her apology? To yell at her? To threaten her job again?

Tentatively, she opened the door.

"I have some questions for you," he said, stepping inside.

"What kind of questions?"

"Important questions. Do you promise to answer them honestly?"

"Of course."

"I'm serious Cuddy. . .will you listen to my questions and really answer them honestly? As if I weren't in the room?"

And in that moment she understood. As if I weren't in the room. Just like had honestly answered all of Nolan's questions about her.

"I'll try, House," she said sincerely.

"Good," he said. There was something slightly restless in his behavior. Like he was determined to carry out this mission, no matter what the consequences.

"Can I get you a drink?" she said.

He rubbed his pants legs.

"No, I'm good."
"Do you mind if I have a drink?" she said with a slight chuckle. "You're making me a little nervous."

He nodded, and warily watched her as she poured herself a glass of white wine.

He had already sat down on the couch and she was about to sit beside him, but something in his body language suggested she should sit across from him, in the arm chair.

He looked at her, cleared his throat once she sat. She folded her hands in her lap.

"Why did you attend my wedding to Dominika?" he said, all business.

"Whoa. Can't we ease into that kind of question?" she joked. "Maybe ask me favorite color first?"

"It's red," he said, matter-of-factly. "Why did you attend my wedding to Dominika?" he repeated.

Cuddy exhaled a bit.

"At the time, I told myself I was humoring you," she said.

"And now?"

She ran her hand through her hair.

"Now. . .I think I . . . I wanted to prove to you that you weren't getting to me."

"Was I getting to you?"

"More than I was willing to admit."

"And how did the wedding make you feel?"

"Wow. You really have been in therapy," she chuckled.

He folded his arms, not amused.

"I felt hurt and betrayed and humiliated. And I . . . wondered how you had managed to stop loving me so quickly."

He started to say something and then stopped.

"Why did you read the transcripts?" he said.

"Because. . .I wanted some insight into your behavior after the breakup," she said. "Which I found increasingly hurtful and alienating."

She felt awkward, sitting there, as he gazed at her stoically. But if she felt vulnerable—naked, exposed—it served her right. House had unwittingly poured his heart out to her. The least she could do was sit here and take his inquisition.

"Did you really believe I had stopped loving you?"

"I didn't want to believe it. But I thought . . yes. That you were so angry that you had actually turned against me. That a switch had flipped in your heart."

House looked lost in thought for a second. Then he regained focus.

"Did you regret breaking up with me?" he said, still all business.

"Not at first," she admitted.

His eyes widened.

"No?" he said.

"I missed you," she replied. "More than I can say. But your behavior after the breakup was so. . .extreme. You didn't give me a chance to regret my decision. All I could do was shield myself from the blows."

"You said not at first . . ." he said.

"Ironically, after I read the transcripts of your sessions with Nolan I felt differently."

"How so?"

"I saw how much I hurt you. And how much you . . . loved me. I never knew you were thinking of proposing, House."

She looked at him, hoping they could stop this charade and really talk to each other—but he was still in interview mode.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Relieved that you still loved me. But also sad. Horribly, horribly sad."

"Why sad?"

"Because we fucked it up, House. We had something great and we both fucked it up."

"Do you still miss me?" he said.

"Yes," she said.

He inhaled a bit.

"What about me do you miss?"

She closed her eyes, thought about it for a second.

"I miss. . .the way you made me feel, the way you made me laugh. I miss having your arms around me at night. I miss kissing you. I miss making love to you." She smiled girlishly, as if reflecting on a memory. "I miss our secret looks when we're at the hospital. I miss our verbal sparring, believe it or not. I miss watching you play with Rachel. I miss hearing you play piano. I miss . . .you."

He was not able to keep up his own clinical mask. Watching the woman he loved reflecting on how much she missed him, with a dreamy, beautiful smile on her face—it was almost more than he could take.

"Do you still love me?" he said, blinking at her.

"Yes," she said honestly.

He stood up, limped toward her, lifted her chin.

"Do you still want me?" he said, swallowing hard.

She felt the heat radiating off his body. Her eyes were level with his stomach and the top of this leather belt, and she found herself fixated on the tiniest bit of skin that was exposed between his tee-shirt and his jeans.

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes.

He bent toward her. She felt his lips on her eyelids. Then, gently, on her mouth.

"I still love you," he whispered, nuzzling against her. "I still want you."

"I know. . ." she said.

"What are we going to do about that?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He kissed her again, this time parting her lips with his own, tasting her tongue.

"This is madness," he said. "We should be together."

His mouth was on her neck now, and moving toward her chest. He began planting pillowy kisses on the top of her breasts, where her bra met the creamy part of her skin.

She felt her own desire welling up, but she tried to suppress it so she could focus.

"You're married," she said.

"A marriage of convenience to a woman who means nothing to me," he said., starting to unbutton her shirt. His hands—she'd always loved his hands, pianists hands, strong and long and nimble—were migrating to her breasts, to her waist, to her ass. His motions were fervent now, lustful. He was beginning to make little groaning sounds.

"You hurt me," she said, lamely.

"And you hurt me," he said. He took her hands and placed them on his own hips, then guided them to his ass. She felt her fingers involuntarily kneed his ass, dig into his pants.

She stood up, to kiss him more deeply and press herself against him and take off his shirt, because she couldn't help herself, she needed his hot skin against hers. And that was all the incentive he needed to scoop her up, carry her to the bedroom.

"Let's never hurt each other again," he breathed, as he eased himself onto her.

"Okay," she said. And she let out a shivery moan of pleasure.

#####

June 1, 2011

Transcript of session with patients Gregory House and Lisa Cuddy.

Notes: This is the patients' third session together and they've already made substantial progress. House is learning to open up, allowing himself to be more vulnerable. Cuddy is learning to appreciate how hard House is trying and taking great pains to make him feel more safe in their relationship.

Body language is key in couples therapy and theirs is promising. When they sit, their legs are always touching—a united front. When they address each other, they make eye contact. Sometimes, he takes her hand, bends toward her. They seem very much in love.

For the purposes of this transcript, I will refer to myself (clinician) as N, Dr. House as H, and Dr. Lisa Cuddy as C.

N: How's the outpatient rehab going?

H: 18 days sober. They've given me a coin, which is useless because it doesn't buy anything.

C: He has it in his pocket right now.

H: Do not!

C: I'm very proud of him.

[H smiles. He is proud of himself, too.]

N: And how is it going between you two?

[H and C look at each other.]

C: Great.

H: Extremely great.

N: Are you working on the exercises I gave you?

H: Yeah, but I still don't understand why you told us to do push-ups.

[C laughs. Her self-assigned role in therapy is to focus him when he makes jokes or strays off subject. She is comfortable in this role. In fact, she seems to relish it.]

C: Yes, we have been working on the exercises.

N: Give me some examples.

C: Well, last Friday I wanted House to attend a cocktail party with me at the home of one of our boardmembers. House told me he'd rather be waterboarded then hang out with boardmembers.

N: And?

C: And . . . that's it. [Laughs.] Hey, that's progress. Two months ago, he would've said he was going to go and then devised some elaborate scheme to blow it off.

H: It's true. I would have.

N: So he didn't go to the cocktail party and you were okay with that?

C: No, he went.

[Patients exchange a knowing look.]

C: I made it worth his while.

H: Indeed she did.

[Patients blush.]

N: Hey, whatever works. So what about your living arrangement? Is House still spending most nights at your place?

C: Yes.

N: And what about that Dominika person?

C: May I just state, for the record, how much I love that you always call her "that Dominika person"?

H: We had the marriage annulled.

N: Where does that leave Dominika?

C: On a plane back to the Ukraine!

[The patients high five.]

N: Any potential legal fall-out for you, House?

H: I hired expensive lawyers. So looks like the only fall out for me will be financial.

N: Good. Sounds like things are really going well. So what's next?

H: Next week, we're taking a trip to Cape Cod.

C: My sister's beach house.

N: Sounds romantic. Just the two of you?

H: No. Rachel is coming too.

C: Yeah. [Looks at H. Take his hand.] The whole family.

THE END