Author's Note: It's been a hectic week and after watching Monday's episode, I was brain-dead for a day or two… that dance was perfect. Anyway, this fic is officially AU but I'm still trying to incorporate spoilers from the next episodes, "Teamwork" and "Ignorance is Bliss." Thanks again for all the reviews and alerts! I really appreciate it!

He had tried everything to get her attention. He had been calm and caring, giving her space to breathe. He had pissed her off, resulting in a fight that would be the gossip of Princeton-Plainsboro for years to come. (Patients from the first floor remarked how they had heard the shouting.) Ignoring her had achieved nothing. He was on the second floor balcony looking down onto the lobby. People walked in and out of the hospital, some smiling, others looking like they only had days to live. The nurses ran to and fro, looking harassed as usual. Anyone looking up would see a fearsome specter, glaring down at everyone with contempt and loathing.

"Anyone faint dead away yet from the "death glare" of Gregory House?" he heard his best friend say.

"Haha, very funny, Jimmy."

"I think 'funny' is at the other end of the spectrum, judging by the look on your mug."

Wilson moved next to him, mirroring his stance: arms on the railing, leaning casually on it. House spared him one more glance before looking down at the lobby again.

"How long has Lucas been in there?"

House's scowl deepened. He cursed Wilson for being as curious as him.

"Seventeen minutes," he answered.

"Wow, he lasts ten minutes longer than you."

"I'm going to pitch you over if you don't shut the hell up."

"Before you do that though… have you seen how happy she is?"

He had. But he's also seen her face drop when she thinks no one's looking. He's seen her smile less and go home early from the real love of her life. This hospital was her pride and joy, her true life's accomplishment. He knew she loved Rachel, but deep down, Rachel was never hers. Cuddy would always hide that in the deepest part of her mind, ignoring that fact until Rachel was old enough to understand.

"She's content. That's not happiness."

"We all strive for happiness, but being content with our lives is enough for some people."

"Not for her."

"And suddenly you know her so well, do you?"

"Don't be dense, Wilson. She's like a caged tigress right now, content because at least her cub's safe and with her. She's sacrificing herself for the kid. Plus, I've known her longer than you."

"That was slightly poetic."

"I try."

"Maybe," Wilson hesitated a moment. "You… need to let her go."

House looked at Wilson with no expression on his face. Wilson avoided his eyes, staring resolutely inside the clinic.

"You're right."

Wilson looked at House, eyebrows raised.

"When did the pod people come last night to steal the body of the real House?"

House smirked, the first scene of emotion flitting across his face.

"She's just as stubborn as I am. If I push it, she'll stay with Lucas longer out of spite."

Wilson shrugged.

"So ultimately your reasoning is selfish. But… what if she never leaves him?"

House smirked at his best friend and stood away from the railing. He glanced back and saw the two people he was waiting for walk out of the clinic, hand in hand. The grip on his cane tightened. His eyes darkened. He watched them until they were out of sight. Lucas was the only one to look up and see House. House walked away from his best friend and towards the elevators, his limp more pronounced.

It had been two weeks since he had decided to leave Cuddy alone. Everything about that idea clashed with his true nature. He wanted to show her Lucas was the wrong person for her. He wanted to crash their dates and stalk them relentlessly until Lucas had had enough. It frustrated him that Lucas knew how he was. He countered House every step of the way.

The only time House wasn't thinking about Cuddy was when he had patients. The first one he cured in his usual weekly time line. The second was dying and he still didn't know what the hell was wrong with him. The guy was a porn producer with clean blood panels, no STDs (a first, thought House), and no other symptoms except eye pain and the simple fact he was going to die in a couple hours. He leaned back in his office chair, red ball in hand, thinking of all the possible diagnosis. He needed that light bulb moment when all the clues came together and he could see the picture clearly. This patient wasn't giving him enough time.

"House."

Chase was standing in the doorway. His hair was cut short and his face was clean shaven. His clothes were wrinkled and the bags under his eyes told House he had been sleeping in the doctor's lounge. House eyed Chase with open hostility.

"What do you want?"

"We called time of death at 11:23 pm."

House dropped his red ball onto the table and stood up slowly, stepping away from his desk.

"What did he die of?"

"Foreman scheduled an autopsy for tomorrow morning."

"Call him. Tell him to reschedule it for tonight. I'll be down there in five minutes."

Chase let out a disgusted breath.

"It's late. Foreman and I have been up for 26 hours watching this guy. He's not going to be any deader tomorrow."

House saw Chase's weak spot. He was in a foul mood and found the perfect opportunity to bait Chase. The wombat would give him a go for his money.

"Why do you want to go home? It's not like there's anybody waiting up for you."

Chase tensed. His bloodshot eyes bored into House's. Cameron had flown to Chicago a week ago after Chase had confessed about the Diabla case. She forgave him as was her nature, but she couldn't be near him or the hospital. She needed a "break." He had snooped, of course, and found she had gotten her own apartment along with separate bank accounts and attorneys.

"I'm tired and can hardly think straight. I'm not calling Foreman."

Chase turned to exit the office.

"So when's the divorce going to be final? Cameron's already had the papers served, I'm sure."

House was on the floor two seconds after the words left his mouth. Chase was standing over him, both hands balled into fists. House could feel the pain and heat radiating from his left eye. It was swelling and would be a perfect coal color tomorrow.

"You're a right, bastard."

House brought his hand up to his face. The bridge of his nose had split and was bleeding slowly onto his cheek. The pain was manageable but he'd need ice and put band aids on quickly. Chase threw him one more hateful look and walked out of the office.

"See you tomorrow!" House yelled.

He stood up shakily, his whole body feeling off balance. That kid sure has a good left jab, he thought. Oddly, he felt better. He was not the most miserable person in Princeton. He hopped into his outer office, almost upending his white board when he wobbled unsteadily. His head hurt and he could only see out of one eye now. He rummaged for an ice pack in the small refrigerator and slapped it on his face. He hissed when the coldness started to seep into his abused muscles.

Overall, House felt better.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

House cringed. His head was sore from a mixture of bourbon and bruising. His eye was colored in different shades of purple and blue. His cheek had the faint greenish hue to it under the abused eye. Two butterfly bands concealed the split skin on his nose. Cuddy stood in front of him, reaching to touch his face. He stepped back.

"This is nothing. You should see the other guy."

He side stepped her and moved towards the elevators. He felt her tug his arm back to the reception desk.

"House, really. What happened?"

He scowled down at her. This was the closest they'd been in weeks. His head throbbed; he was hung over; he didn't want to be able to smell her perfume and not be able to… he shook his head.

"Why do you care?"

It came out harsher than he wanted it to, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was get to his office and resume ignoring her. She squared her shoulders, her posture defensive and cautious.

"I care because I still consider you a friend and---."

"We could never be friends, Cuddy."

She looked like he had just back handed her. The hurt he had been feeling for weeks bubbled up to the surface. She didn't even glance back when she turned on her stilettos and marched through the clinic to her office. Watching her walk away had not made him feel better like he hoped it would.

A glass of scotch cast an amber glow on his fingers as he turned the glass in hand, his desk lamp illuminating the warm liquid. He was celebrating his success on getting Taub and Thirteen back onto the team. Chase took the third spot with Foreman being his "second-in-command." They all worked well together. He would have to think of something to bring back the antagonism and competition. He emptied his glass. He was well and truly into his cups. His head felt light, a nice buzz making his face warm and his lips numb. There was no way he could ride his bike back to Wilson's. He picked up his cell phone. Wilson answered on the third ring.

"What?"

"Dear friend of mine, I need you to pick me up."

"You're drunk. Damn it, House, where are you at?"

"At the hospital. Hurry up."

"Drunk at the hospital, nice," he heard Wilson mumble. "I'll be there in twenty."

Wilson hung up on him. He snapped the cell phone shut, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. He heard the door to his office creak slightly. He didn't bother opening up his eyes.

"I'm off the clock! Whoever you are, get the hell out of my office."

"Not until you tell me what you did to Lisa."

House opened a bleary eye. Lucas stood in front of his desk. His hands were tucked into his brown leather jacket. From what House could gather, he didn't look mad.

"I insulted her as usual. You going to hit me for it?"

Lucas smirked.

"Looks like someone beat me to it. And you didn't just insult her. I know both of you. She's been hiding her misery and guilt for days."

"She's PMSing. Give her a hot water bottle and she'll get over it."

"Nice deflection. She'd have your balls for saying that."

House laughed knowing Lucas was right.

"Sit down. Want a drink?"

His drunk mind was making him more at ease than he should be. No matter how much he wanted to hate Lucas, he couldn't. The guy was honest and didn't bull shit around. He did have the annoying rambling-on quality that made him put his foot into his mouth more than once, but House tolerated it.

"Sure. Now what did you say?"

House pulled out another cup from one of his drawers and poured a generous amount of scotch into it. Lucas took a sip, still waiting for House's answer.

"I told her we could never be friends."

"Why? You guys have been friends for almost a decade. She still cares about you."

"I don't want her to," he replied without thinking. The alcohol in his system made his tongue loose. At the moment, he didn't care about Lucas knowing how he felt about Cuddy. Lucas already knew that. He didn't know how much.

"That's a lame reason. You know you want her, probably more than I do."

House glared at the man in front of him. Anger prickled through his fogged stated.

"You better not be jerking her around---." House started.

"See! You're such a liar, House. You care about her. You just need the suit of armor and a white horse to complete your look."

"I'm thinking a joust, too. Oh, you know, to make you fall on your ass."

"Whatever, House. Talk to her. You guys can still be friends. You just want to do her anyway, not like you're in love with her," Lucas said off handedly.

House stiffened. Lucas saw the flash of emotion on House's face and his rigid posture.

"Oh Jeez," he sighed. "You are in love with her."

Lucas had found his answer and didn't have anything else left to say. House watched him step out of his office and walk down the hall. Neither would mention anything to Cuddy the next day.