Disclaimer: I don't own House MD and do not profit from the use of the characters. House MD belongs to David Shore and Fox.

A/N: Thanks everyone. The response to this story has been really overwhelming. I really appreciate all the feedback and kind words. Thanks again to Pippa, for your invaluable insights and late night availability. I love you.

Also, this used to be two chapters but separated it into two so my next update shouldn't be too far behind. Enjoy!

xxxx

10:00 PM

The deep amber liquid spun around in his cup like a little typhoon as he swirled his glass around, sitting, lonely, on a bar stool. He stared at it for a moment before throwing his head back and downing the glass.

"Woman troubles?" Asked the woman behind the bar.

"Spare me the wise bartender routine and just pour me another one." His words slurred together ever so slightly. He was no doubt losing his car keys tonight. The last time he drank alone in a bar and took the bus, the night hadn't ended so well.

"You're getting pretty close to your limit there, Buddy," the bartender warned.

"Just pour the fuckin' drink, okay?" he said as he slammed his hand down on the bar, partly on accident. He was slumped over on the stool lazily.

"That's not how you talk to a lady," Said a man sitting one stool over to his right.

"Didn't notice she was a lady," House said spitefully. The comment was unnecessary, however; the bartender, though not strikingly feminine was very attractive with her shoulder length brown hair, sleeve tattoos and her nicely proportioned breasts poking out form under her black wife beater. Her face was exotic, her skin was an olive color. If it weren't for the way she dressed and the tattoos, one might wonder why such a pretty girl worked in a place like that.

"I'll knock your teeth out," said the other man, who was even more drunk than House was.

"Calm down, Earl," the bartender chided, to the older, unattractive, beer-bellied Earl. "I'm cutting you off." She took the glass from in front of the other man.

"Come on, Shannon, I had a bad day. I'm not even that drunk." He pleaded, his words strung together, giving him away.

"Your day is about to get a whole lot worse if you don't get on home to your wife," She said knowingly.

"My wife? Who needs her? I got you," He said, just before breaking out into drunken song. "I got you babe," he sang, off key.

"Go home, Earl. Before your wife pitches another fit." She must have listened to countless sob stories about his wife catching threatening to leave him over his drinking, the irony not lost on her.

"Why don't I go home with you, Baby?" Earl asked.

"Why don't you shut the hell up?" House asked, turning to the man with an annoyed expression. House was in no mood to listen to the man's drunken chatter.

"Who you talkin' to, cripple? First you insult my Shannon, then you talk back to me? You're just askin' for it" the man stumbled from his stool and approached House quickly. House was quicker; he picked up his can from wear it rested against the bar. He used the curved handle to quickly wrap around the back of the man's knee and he tugged, the man's leg gave out, just as House had known it would. The man tripped, hitting his head on the table and fell to the ground with a thud. As he tried to stand, The bartender called over a large gentleman who worked at the bar to walk the drunk man out as he hollered to be let go.

"That was pretty slick," the bartender said, almost smiling. "I coulda had you thrown out for that, she said with her hands resting on the top of the bar.

"Why didn't you?" House asked, only slightly curious.

"Earl's a drunk. A loud one at that, always hitting on me. Most guys who hit on me are harmless but I half expect Earl to be waiting for me by my car when I leave. He's a creep."

"Maybe now he'll be waiting for me," house said, looking deep into his glass.

"Maybe," she laughed.

"So what happened?" She asked, propping her elbows on the counter, getting comfortable to listen to his inevitable story. House didn't answer her. "You want another drink?" He just nodded. "Then tell me what happened."

"Why do you care?" House spat.

"It'll make you feel better," she assured.

"Again, why do you care?"

"Boredom. That's the only reason anyone cares about anyone else. They're bored and want to be entertained by someone else's problems, hoping they're worse than their own." House chuckled at her cynicism but said nothing. "What's your name? We'll start with that." She said, pouring another glass to give him some incentive.

"Greg," he answered, the alcohol starting to loosen him up.

"Hi Greg, my name is Annie." She said with a smile on one side of her mouth. House laughed again. "What's so funny?"

"I just got a blow job form a girl named Annie," he said with a sad smile. "Or was it Amy?"

"And that's why you're sitting here?"

"Yep." He said with one quick nod. "I thought your name was Shannon," he said, remembering that Earl had called her that.

"I tell Earl my name is Shannon." She said. "So, what's so awful about a blow job that you gotta come in here and drink yourself into oblivion?" She asked.

"You're not so good at this whole 'wise bartender' thing, are you?" He asked, taking another drink.

"Ah, you got a blowjob from Amy," she began, catching on. "But Amy wasn't your girlfriend. From the empty ring finger, I'm going to assume that it's your girlfriend that's pissed." House just nodded, taking another drink. "So she walked in on you?" She asked.

"Best friend did," he said after shaking his head.

"Your best friend told your girlfriend you cheated on her? Where's the loyalty?" She asked, becoming increasingly interested.

"He didn't know." He said, running his finger over the rim of his glass.

"He didn't know what?"

"That I was sleeping with Cuddy," he was to drunk to avoid being esoteric.

"Is Cuddy your girlfriend?"

"No, it was just sex."

"Then what does that have to do with your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend," House said, annoyed, not sure why he was even talking about this in the first place. "I was sleeping with her, but I didn't tell Wilson, so he didn't know not to tell her about the blow job that his assistant gave me."

"His assistant, huh?" She wasn't sure she grasped every aspect of his story. "So, she's not your girlfriend? Just-what- your fuck buddy?" She asked.

"Not anymore." He chuckled at his own misery and misfortune.

"But you wanted her to be." He didn't answer her. "Shit," she muttered, shifting her weight to her other leg. "Well, your relationship wasn't exclusive at the time, right? Maybe if you just tell her you'd be faithful to her if you were together-"

"I tried that," he said, letting his head droop further towards his glass. "She didn't care," his voice was quiet.

"What'd she say?" She asked, getting more curious than when she usually listened to men's troubles at her bar. House thought back to that morning, when he walked into the hospital earlier than usual and headed strait towards Cuddy's office. When he reached the double glass doors he saw her look up and see him. She didn't look happy to see him but he ignored it.

"Don't say anything," he said, upon entering the room, trying to recall everything he'd practiced last night and on the ride to work. "Just let me say something."

"House," she began with a solemn look on her face.

"Just let me talk for a second." She opened up her mouth to speak but he trampled over her words. "I like you and I like having sex with you and when we're not having sex, I don't hate being around you." He said, with almost childlike inflections, recalling a speech he'd practiced. "And I know that isn't exactly what you want to hear but right now that's all I can work out. I don't know where we go from here but I was thinking maybe we could," his voice trailed off as he wasn't sure where to go with it anymore. "Maybe we could start over." She didn't seem pleased and that worried him. For the first time in a long time, his heart beat a little faster out of anxiety over a woman.

"It's a little late for that." She tried to keep her voice steady. House was confused; he thought this was what she wanted.

"Why?" He was perfectly still.

"Because you are just not what I need, House." She sounded cold. He couldn't figure out why.

"Since when?"

"Since always," she stood up and walked to her filing cabinet.

"We spent a month together and now, all of sudden, I'm not what you need?" She opened the drawer and thumbed through her files.

"House, you are selfish and damaged and I deserve better than that. I deserve better than you." She kept searching through the drawer, having forgotten what she was looking for but wanting to keep busy.

"I agree. You deserve better and I'm not what you need. But I am what you want and you can't deny that." She kept her eyes on the files, becoming livid at him. He was so selfish, he didn't care that what was actually good for her. She was even angrier because he was right.

"No, I can't deny that," she said, both hands on either side of the drawer. "I can't deny that I'm attracted to you, I've admitted as much. But I don't want to be with you in any other capacity than what we had. I don't want to be your girlfriend, House, and I won't let you keep me form being someone else's."

"You're a liar!" He pointed a finger accusingly. She turned to look at him, feeling so much smaller under his intense stare. "This is what you wanted. You wanted me to come to you and ask you to be in a real relationship. You want to have dinner and listen to me play the piano and everything else a relationship entails. I know you well enough to know that." His confidence moved two steps forward and three steps back as his speech progressed but he didn't show it.

"Maybe I wanted that yesterday," she said quietly. "But not now."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't want to be with you, House."

"What changed?" He asked her loudly. "Last night, on the phone, you sounded fine. Now you're angry."

"It doesn't matter. I don't want you. That should be enough."

"Well, it isn't. Not for me. I need a reason."

"I don't have to give you a reason!" She was so loud she was sure her assistant had heard her but she didn't care. "Just get out of my office."

"I'm not leaving here until you tell me why." His voice was also increasing in volume.

"House, just get out." She tried to quiet her voice but she grew angrier picturing him with her.

"No, we're not finished." He said, firmly. She wondered if he stroked Amy's hair while she went down on him, the same way he did to her. Or if he kissed her and did that thing with his tongue that made her toes curl. It must have been so easy for him.

"Get out!" tears welled up in her eyes and she was angry at his ability to reduce her to a crying little girl. She hated him for that.

"Not until you explain. I've done nothing to hurt you but you're acting like I did." His voice was so sincere it almost stunned her to silence. But she was too busy being disgusted by the how flippant he was about what he had done. He was going to pretend it never happened. If Wilson hadn't caught him and told her, she may have accepted his offer and House would probably continue to fool around with Amy, behind her back.

"You will!" She shouted. "You will do something to hurt me. You'll break my heart." House was disappointed by her lack of trust in him. He realized he should have known better.

"How do you know that?" he asked, unprepared for her answer.

"Because you already did," she said quietly, juxtaposing her previous shouts. She sounded somehow defeated.

"What?" He was confused.

"You fucked Wilson's assistant." House felt like he was just hit in the face. He couldn't form very many coherent thoughts.

"I- what? Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter," She closed her filing cabinet, forgetting about the file she meant to retrieve.

"Cuddy, I didn't sleep with her," House said, knowing it didn't matter.

"I don't care." She used her fingertips to wipe away a tear before it had the chance to fall.

"She just came on to-"

"I don't care!" She wanted him to leave, desperately. "Just go."

"You and I weren't together," He said insistently. "We weren't together, not really." he repeated on accident.

"The fact that you would even say that-" she shook her head quickly, stopping herself before she started to contemplate the new ways in which he was hurting her. "We're not together now so you can sleep with whoever you want."

"I'm sorry." He meant it. She knew it but didn't care.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm sure you are."

"Cuddy," He tried to say the right thing.

"Get. Out."

"She didn't mean anything to me." He was annoyed at the use of that cliché, but it was true.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better? You can just fuck young girls and not give a shit?" He didn't respond so she continued. "Did I mean anything to you?" She asked, another tear threatening to fall. He didn't respond right away to that either. "Don't answer that," she shook her head.

"You mean more than-"

"Stop," she hurriedly cut him off. "Just stop."

"Cuddy, don't do this. This is ridiculous. I'm telling you it was nothing. It won't happen again."

"Yes it will," she said, looking behind him at the door, suddenly aware of her surroundings, realizing she had to hurry the conversation along. "But it doesn't matter now. You should just go."

"I wouldn't cheat on you," he said, assuredly. "Not if we were together."

"In what way were we not together?" She asked, only just realizing, herself, that just because they had hadn't called it a relationship, that didn't mean it wasn't one. It was some kind of relationship. House realized it too when he tried to think of a way to explain himself.

"We agreed it wasn't."

"So if I gave someone a blow job in my office, you'd have been okay with that?"

"No," he answered honestly. She was surprised to hear him admit he cared. "But I wouldn't end it."

"House, we cannot be together," she spoke slowly and seriously. "I won't put myself in this position again." There was silence between them for a moment. "Will you please leave. I have work to do." House waited a moment, looking at her and couldn't help but be angry with her. She was making a stupid mistake and overreacting. She didn't take her eyes off of him until he slowly turned to leave, he heard her sigh deeply just as he closed the door behind him.

"Shit," the bartender said in response to House's story. "What are you gonna do now?" She asked.

"I'm gonna get another drink," he said, tapping the counter. He really had no intention of ordering another, but he'd take one if she'd give it.

"I think you've had enough," She said, as she wiped the counter top with a rag. Seeing that he wasn't going to protest, she continued. "So how did you find out that your best friend was the one that told her?" She asked, propping herself against the bar.

"I had a hunch and I ran with it," he said, picturing himself leaving Cuddy's office again. He was angry with her, of course, but even angrier at whoever it was that told her. The assistant wouldn't know to tell Cuddy and she had nothing to gain from it. It had to be either someone she told or someone who saw them together and there was only one person in the hall that late, that House knew of. When it clicked in House's head, he made his way to the elevator quickly. The elevator couldn't move fast enough as he waited impatiently for the doors to open.

House stepped off the elevator and made his way to Wilson's office. He barged through the door of his office aggressively.

"You told Cuddy that your assistant gave me head?!" House yelled.

"Mrs. Zirkin, I'll have to call you back. Yes, every thing's fine, I will call you back in a few minutes," Wilson said into the phone, giving House an annoyed look. He hung up the phone with a loud click. "What now?" He said, looking at House confused and upset.

"You told Cuddy about your assistant giving my head," House repeated, quieter this time, not needing the entire hospital to hear. Wilson had been so busy all day, he'd nearly forgotten.

"Oh, you mean the assistant I had to fire because you can't keep it in your pants? When I said you should ask someone out at the hospital, I didn't mean lure young girls into stimulating you orally in under your desk. Especially not one's I specifically asked you to leave alone" Wilson said, annoyed at him.

"Please, she practically assaulted me," House said, dismissively. "You told Cuddy," he stressed with more importance.

"What- is she reprimanding you? She didn't do anything when you caught Chase and Cameron in the janitor's closet. I didn't think she'd care."

"Oh, she cares. And she's reprimanding me alright," House said, beginning to pace. His anger at Wilson was dwindling as his anger at himself began to rise once more; Wilson didn't know any better but he did.

"You got extra clinic duty? I'll split the time with you if you-"

"No." House said, still pacing. "If it weren't for your damn assistant I would have told you about me and her yesterday but the bitch interrupted."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Wilson asked, trying to follow his friend's nonsensical rambling.

"Of course, if it weren't for you assistant she wouldn't have given me head in the first place and I could be getting some from Cuddy right now."

"What?" Wilson asked, disbelieving. "You and Cuddy?"

"We've been sleeping together." House said quickly, trying to get that overdue sentence out of the way.

"What?!" He asked, in a shouted whisper. "You've been sleeping with Cuddy? How long? Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson sat strait up in his seat.

"Remember when I told you about how she gave me that massage in my office?"

"Yeah."

"It's been about that long."

"What? That was like a month ago! You've been keeping this a secret for that long?"

"Yeah, she asked me too." House started pacing again.

"So," Wilson was beginning to put everything together. "So you've been seeing Cuddy… but then you hooked up with my assistant and I saw you together, told Cuddy… and she broke up with you?"

"We weren't actually together, it was just sex." Wilson couldn't hold back the small chuckle that erupted from his mouth. "What's funny?"

"You and Cuddy trying to have uncomplicated sex?" Wilson started laughing even harder. House just rolled his eyes.

"Why is that funny?" House asked, annoyed. Wilson quelled his laughter to try and explain.

"Because you two have the most complicated relationship out of anyone I know. Aside from you and I, of course," Wilson said with a smile.

"Well, now, thanks to you, it's very uncomplicated. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

"I'm sorry," Wilson said sincerely. Wilson thought back on earlier that morning when he told Cuddy about House and his assistant. "Jesus," he said realizing. "I missed it completely," he said.

"Missed what?"

"Cuddy. When I told her, she was upset. I guess I was just too busy to realize." He said, trying to picture the look on her face. "She looked kind of heartbroken. I thought she was just surprised." House plopped down in the chair in front of Wilson's desk that usually wasn't there. The two friends sat in silence for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said again. "But what were you thinking? Fooling around with Amy?"

"I wasn't thinking." House answered honestly. "And the timing was-" he shook his head. "It couldn't have been worse.

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked, curiously.

"I was trying to tell her that I-" it had been hard enough to say to Cuddy in the first place, let alone to repeat to Wilson. "I wanted more. I mean, I knew she wanted more from me and I told her that I was willing to try," He said, staring off into the space somewhere over Wilson's shoulder. Wilson just puffed up his cheeks letting the air blow out in a deep exhale, overwhelmed with all this new information.

"I can't believe it," Wilson stated. "It could have worked. I mean, it still could, assuming you're willing to fix this."

"How?" House perked up. Wilson almost thought it was adorable.

"I have no idea. But if there's one thing I know about Cuddy, she never has her mind made up when it comes to you."

"Yeah, well It seemed pretty made up to me," he recalled, leaning back in the chair.

"That was just her emotions talking. Women are like that." He said, very matter-of-fact.

"And this coming from a guy thrice divorced." House scoffed.

"And that coming from the guy who just royally fucked up his relationship with the only woman that could ever really love him," Wilson blurted out. House was surprised at the word 'love'. The idea of Cuddy having that kind of feeling for him made him sick. He refused to let his brain explore whether it was good sick or bad sick.

"Tell me how to make it right." House said, not looking Wilson in the eyes.

"As I said, I don't know. But I do have one little piece of advice:" House looked up at him curiously. "-Whatever it is that you think you should do- showing up at her window in the middle of the night, or letting yourself into her house to confront her- don't do that. Those are the instincts you have to ignore." Wilson warned, knowing that there was no way House would listen to him. House always did whatever he wanted. Wilson just hoped it wouldn't be his downfall. House got up to go, trying to think of his next move. Wilson stopped him at the door.

"House." He turned around.

"I'm happy for you." House just rolled his eyes.

"Don't be." He said sadly before leaving Wilson, who was sitting at his desk, grateful that his friend still had some potential left in him.

"Why didn't you tell him before?" the bartender asked.

"She asked me not to."

"You don't strike me as the type of guy who just does as he's told." House just sat there, staring into his empty glass. "So, what do you plan to do about this?" House just inhaled deeply and let out a huge say, saying he had no idea what his next move was going to be. "Well, you have to get her back." She said, insistently, as if he didn't already know that.

"Nah," he said with another exhale. "She was right, she deserves better." He meant it but knew that probably wouldn't stop him.

"Well, that's admirable," she said genuinely. "But we can't help who we love. It's not always who we thought and not always who we deserve." He almost cringed again at the word 'love'. She was uselessly wiping the counter down again and slung the rag over her shoulder when she was finished. The bar was fairly empty, there was a group of rowdy students at a table and a man and a woman sitting at the end of the bar talking, no doubt going home with each other tonight. "How long have you known her? Since you've been working at the hospital?" She tried to give him 'yes' or 'no' questions so he wouldn't have to talk too much. He shook his head.

"I met her in school. I was in med school and she was an undergrad," he almost smiled at the memory.

"Wow. So she hired you how long ago?"

"Over ten years ago," he said, surprised at the confrontation of his own age.

"So what took you two so long? You don't just start loving someone suddenly, you must have known-"

"Stop saying 'love'" he said the word with an antagonizing sing-songy voice. "It's not about love."

"Then what is it about?"

"Sex." He said, knowing he was downplaying things a little. "And we like each other enough. She doesn't annoy the crap out of me like most women. Perfect grounds for a relationship." She chuckled at his response.

"And that's just your way of rationalizing the existence of something you can't control. You have to put it in this logical box and use non-abstract terms when talking about it. I suppose that makes you feel less at the mercy of your own emotions." He looked at her like she had just been speaking Latin. "I took psychology in high school." she said with a smile, he returned her smile for the first time all night.

"Well, then, I think that's what psychologists would call 'projection'. I am not in love with Cuddy."

"Love is not a product of reasoning's and statistics. It just comes—no one knows whence--and cannot explain itself," she quoted. "And I didn't say you were 'in love' with her. I implied that you love her." He chuckled again.

"That's just semantics." He said, gruffly.

"Sure but it's necessary. Love is just a word and people expect it to mean a thousand different degrees of liking something a lot. Two people are rarely ever on the same page when discussing it. So why not separate it into easier to manage categories? Love is how you feel about Cuddy. And 'in love' is what you'll be once you realize it."

"Love is just a little adrenaline, mixed with Dopamine and Serotonin. Chemicals. That's it."

"But it sure feels great."

"No it doesn't," he said despondently, looking into he grooves of the counter. She sighed at remembering his predicament.

"Well your problems won't go away sitting here, Buddy. If you want my advice-"

"I don't"

"Too bad. Get on the bus, go home, get some sleep, wake up tomorrow and start thinking about how to tell her how you feel."

"I hate busses." His words slurred and stumbled together.

"Then I'll call you a cab. But get home and get to bed."

"I should go see her." He said, rising from his bar stool and stumbling for a second before grabbing onto the bar for support.

"No. Greg, you need to go home. You think she wants to see you like this? You think she'll listen to anything you have to say?"

"I'll make her listen." He grabbed his cane and turned, stumbling, to leave.

"Doctor, you have to wait for me to call the cab." She said with a quiet laugh. She picked up the phone and dialed as he plopped back down on the stool. She requested the cab and hung up the phone, turning back to him.

"If you really want her back, you won't rush this. Besides, you're not so charming when you're drunk."

"I'm not so charming when I'm sober," he added.

"What's she like?" She leaned over, putting her elbows on the counter.

"Cuddy?"

"Yeah."

"She's got a great ass," he said with a drunken grin. She laughed at him. "She's beautiful," he said more seriously, smile fading. "She's also a pain in the ass, always assessing the administrative aspect of every decision." He looked off into space as he spoke. "She's idealistic, hopeful, naïve." He propped his face in his hand. "Sometimes she's annoying when she insists there's a perfect answer to everything.And she argues with me about my patients even when she knows I'm right," he smiled, imagining it. "And her voice goes up all high, like this," he said, poorly imitating her. "She's beautiful." House chuckled at his own misery.

"You said that already," the bartender smiled. "She doesn't sound like someone who would agree to a 'friends with benefits' relationship. I think you may have made some deeper errors from the start." He sat, silently thinking about that. Had Cuddy wanted something more from him all along? Where would they be now if he asked her out all those weeks ago. They'd be in his bed, no doubt. Tangled in the sheets, tangled in each other. She's be kissing his chest and he's be clearing the hair from her eyes. He'd smile when she'd look up at him and he'd tell her "I-"

"Hey, I think your cab's here," she said, interrupting his thoughts, motioning to the window. He turned to see the light on top of the cab blaring as the car idled, waiting for him. He reached in his wallet, pulled out far too much money, throwing it down at the bar in front of him.

"Hey, save some of that for the cab fair," she said, handing him back a few dollars.

"I'm not the one who needs to work in a bar to pay for my ivy league tuition." He said, drunk but still incredibly insightful.

"How'd you know that?" She asked, surprised.

"You quoted an obscure comic short by Mark Twain and referenced Gestalt. Either you're very stupid for not being in school or you're very smart for being a pretty, young girl in a bar where older drunken men go to ogle and throw cash at you. Not to mention this is practically a campus bar."

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, pocketing the extra cash. He turned to leave again.

"Hey," She called after him, he turned back to look at her.

"I work on Wednesday's and Friday's. When you tell her you love her, come back and tell me how it went. If you want." He simply made a 'pffff' sound and turned and limped out of the door. He got into the cab, lazily flinging himself inside and shutting the door behind him.

"221B Baker street," he said, leaning back against the seat. After a few moments, he spoke again. "Actually," he said, drunkenly. "Make that 925 Mercer." He sat back once more, shutting his eyes, not too drunk to realize he was about to make a mistake.

xxxx