A/N: Ass cake, anyone? This is only part one. Expect part two soon.

5 Ways to Say I . . . You

Monday, Wilson's place

House sat across from Wilson quietly chewing cold cereal. Wilson opened his napkin with a flourish as he inhaled the rich, aromatic scent of his homemade Denver omelet. He looked over at House and frowned. He attempted to break the tension, "Do you want some of this? I can make another one if you want it."

The only response was silence and an icy glare. Wilson sighed. He picked up his mug to refill it. Turning towards the coffee pot, he spoke, "House, you need to let it go. I didn't sabotage your plans. Hell, I paid for the flowers. Why shouldn't Cuddy thank me? You just need a better strategy. Give her House gifts, not Wilson gifts."

When he turned around to return to the table, his breakfast had been snatched away by House. Wilson smiled, "Have an idea?"

House grinned wickedly, "Ass cake."

"What?" he looked baffled.

"Ass cake. Supertanker does pastry. Cuddy is ½ ass, and the ass craves cake. Why not give it an ass cake?" House grew dangerously excited by the thought.

"She would definitely know who sent it," Wilson replied apprehensively, "House, you can't send that to the hospital!"

"Why not?" House inquired dialing his local exotic baker.

Grabbing the phone away from him, Wilson insisted, "What do you want to order?"

"An ass cake," House repeated speaking slowly and loudly as if he was talking to an idiot, literally.

Monday Night, Cuddy Residence

"Can I help you?" Cuddy eyed the white-coated deliver man suspiciously.

"Deliver for Dr. Cuddy," he replied holding up a white cake box.

"I didn't order anything," she responded holding the door tightly.

"Comments of the crew of the U.S.S. Wide Load, madam," he explained trying to contain his grin.

"Wonderful," she grimaced opening the door wider to sign for the package. She took possession of the cake box waving off the delivery man. Once she had the box safely located on her kitchen counter, she grabbed a fork ready to dig in to the delectable dessert. When she opened the box, a disturbing likeness of her own derriere waited to be devoured.

Tuesday Morning, Diagnostics Conference Room

"Looks like someone left you a present," Chase mused as House entered the room. On the glass table near the front of the room, a shapely cake sat. The form of the cake clearly stated who the cake was for, at least in terms of whom in the diagnostic department.

House smiled widely walking closer to the table. He was surprised to see a message sprawled across the top in red frosting. This message was a bit more personal. It said, "You're an ass!" His smile grew wider.

"It's the nicest way that anyone has ever called you an ass," Cameron grinned slicing the cake.

"It's a shame more patients don't say it with cakes. The fist approach gets a bit boring after awhile," Chase smirked taking a piece of cake from Cameron.

"It's amazing how much it resembles your wife's ass," House yanked the plate away as Chase went to stab the piece with his fork. With the cake, House quickly escaped to his private office.

Once he was settled in, he flipped open his phone. He asked over the extension, "Madam Suzette's House of Sex Play? Could you tell about your Catholic school girl uniform selection?"

Tuesday Lunchtime, Madam Suzette's House of Sex Play

"Catholic school girls?" Wilson replied somewhat skeptical.

"I need one with a red and black plaid skirt," House insisted shifting through the rackets, "Some of us fantasize about things besides desperation and neediness."

"Here, this one has ruffles around collar and will cut nicely under her breasts," he handed House a skimpy little shirt and skirt.

House eyed him skeptically. Finally, he inspected the outfit, "Perfect."

"Sent it to her house," Wilson shouted as he headed towards the register.