"Dr Cuddy? Dr House called. He said to remind you that dinner is at seven tonight."

Gathering up the paperwork on her desk, she gives Annie a nod. That leaves her an hour to get ready; not enough time she thinks vaguely. On the other hand, House is bound to comment, no matter how she's dressed.

Annie is still standing in the doorway, her expression confused. "He seemed…cheerful."

She looks up, frowning at the disbelief in her assistant's tone. House and cheerful aren't two words that she'd normally use in the same sentence either. She's been busy; it's the end of the fiscal year. In all the excitement she hadn't realized that House has been absent from her office for at least a few days.

She leans forward on her desk, twirling her pen thoughtfully. "Did he sound cheerful because he's actually cheerful or cheerful because he wants something?"

It's a testament to the number of years that Annie's been working for her that her assistant actually understands the question. "Cheerful because he's actually cheerful," she replies after a beat.

"Oh."

"Does that mean Dr Wilson is coming back?"

"Possibly." She tips her head on one side, questioning. "You're not supposed to know about that."

Annie smiles at her, shaking her head. "Nothing is a secret around here."

She shakes her head in reply, wishing Annie goodnight as she closes the door. She's not sure what to be more worried about; the fact that House is cheerful or that the staff think Wilson is coming back. They've been discussing it in board meetings, about exactly what his position will be. She'd been hoping to manage it gradually, to give him time to find his feet.

With a sigh she packs up the rest of her files and shuts down her office for the night. Wilson won't be able to come back as Head of Oncology, he's already told her that. He's still playing catch-up but she knows it won't be for long. He might be missing some of the medical knowledge he needs but his fierce intelligence is still intact. It's why they're meeting up for dinner, so that they can discuss his options over the next few months.

As she heads for the parking lot she consoles herself with Annie's diagnosis of House's cheerful mood. It's been nearly a month since the incident in the clinic, a month since Wilson returned. House has been busy with patients for most of that time. There've been complaints – there always are – but a quick mental count tells her that he's been surprisingly quiet.

That knowledge doesn't help settle her nerves though as she stands outside House and Wilson's apartment that night. She's been trying to keep her distance. She's not quite sure what to expect.

Wilson solves that problem when he answers the door; he's wearing a luridly patterned apron and his hands are covered in flour. She grins as he struggles not to leave floury fingerprints everywhere. She grins even more when he catches her admiring his apron.

"House's idea of fun," he grumbles, taking the bottle of wine she's brought, and leading her through to the living room. She already knows where House is; the sound of piano music fills the apartment.

As Wilson disappears into the kitchen, she pauses at the entrance of the living room. House's head is down, his attention on the piano keys. She watches him for a while. It never ceases to amaze her how relaxed his body language is when he's sitting behind a piano. Eventually his head comes and up and he grins at her, his eyebrows waggling madly. She scowls back with mock-severity; she's wearing a low-cut black blouse just for him.

"Here you go."

Wilson's reappeared with a glass of wine and she takes it, wiping away the white fingerprints he's left behind. Dinner won't be long, he tells her. Taking the hint she sits on the couch.

Arranging her skirt so that House doesn't have another excuse to grin lewdly, she takes a sip of her wine and forces herself to relax. It's not difficult, she discovers quickly. The mood is mellow. Relaxed. Just like old times.

The thought comes out at her from left field and she pauses, mid-sip. House has turned his attention back to the music. The aroma of chicken and spices are wafting from the kitchen. Surreptitiously she checks out the living room.

Don't look, she reminds herself half-heartedly. It's none of your business.

A picture on the shelf catches her eye and all her best intentions go out of the window. Getting up she retrieves it from behind the books where it's been half-hidden. House and Wilson smile up at her from the picture. Instinctively she smiles back. Probably taken at Thanksgiving, she decides, looking at the decorations on the wall behind them. It's not one she's seen before. She's sure she would have remembered it; whoever took the picture has captured both men perfectly.

She opens her mouth to ask House about it then realizes he's already watching her, his fingers still sliding over the keys. His eyes are dancing with mischief as he glances towards the kitchen, then raises a finger to his lips.

For a second she thinks she's imagined it; the music hasn't skipped a beat. Then he raises his eyebrows at her, before turning his attention back to the keys.

"Dinner's ready."

Wilson's heading out of the kitchen. Without thinking she puts the picture back where she found it – its 'hiding place' her brain supplies helpfully – and makes a dash back to the couch. A quick glance at House tells her he's seen everything; his eyes are laughing even though his expression is straight. Mentally she reminds herself to assign him more clinic hours, preferably the next time there's a flu epidemic in Princeton.

She's sure she's blushing; Wilson's nervous glance in her direction confirms it. House earns himself a longer look though. They're sending out conflicting body language. She tells herself not to worry about it. As they sit down at the dining table she ends up doing just that.

Her feeling of unease continues through dinner. The food is delicious. House is in sparkling form. Wilson reacts to House's humor in the same way he always has. She can't help feeling he's slightly 'off' though.

They talk about work and Wilson's schedule. It's just details they're confirming. But she can see Wilson fiddling with his napkin. House is watching him from under his brow.

It's not until dinner's finished and the dirty plates are being cleared up that she gets to talk to Wilson alone. House has disappeared into a bedroom. Wilson's fiddling with the dishwasher, his back to her, so she waits for him to turn around.

"Dinner was lovely," she starts, cursing the lameness of her opening question. But he looks like a startled rabbit. She can't bring herself to cut straight to the chase.

"Thanks."

It's perfunctory, that one word. Mentally taking a breath she tries again. "So…how are you doing?"

"Me?" His eyes are wide open; he's working hard to look surprised. "I'm fine. Why?"

"I just wondered." Casually she takes a step closer, blocking his only route of escape. "You know, if you don't want to come back yet there's no rush, we –"

"No." Now she's sure he's wearing a genuine look of surprise. "I want to go back. It's just…" he waves his hands in the air vaguely, "it's going to be weird for a while."

She nods, relieved. "As long as you're sure."

"I'm sure," he shoots back instantly, with an intensity that makes her smile. It's the voice he usually uses as Head of Oncology, when he's going toe to toe with other members of the board.

She's about to ask another question when they're interrupted by House limping into the kitchen, a dirty glass in his free hand. She steps back to give him room to maneuver, Wilson steps forward to take the glass. House carries on regardless, heading for the dishwasher. At the last second he tips slightly to the left, his arm brushing Wilson's hip.

Taking a sudden interest in her fingernail polish, she waits for House to limp back out. When she looks up again, Wilson is stabbing at the buttons on the dishwasher. The tips of his ears are blushing bright red.

She should take pity on him, she knows she should. He's obviously the victim of one of House's 'games'. She can't help herself though, she's dying to know. "So…how's it going?" He raises one eyebrow so she nods in the direction that House has just disappeared.

He thinks about it for a moment then inhales deeply. "We're not...you know… " he starts nervously, waggling his hand from side to side. "We're…taking it slowly." Now it's not just his ears that are blushing furiously. With difficulty she stifles a smile.

A sound outside interrupts him. His nervous expression turns into a scowl. Hands on hips, he yells in the direction of the doorway. "House!"

On cue, House's head appears around the corner. He looks just like a naughty school boy, she thinks.

"It's rude to listen into other people's conversations."

"So?" House retorts, unrepentant.

Wilson watches him go, his lips twitching up in a smile. A moment later he turns his attention back to her, his brown eyes thoughtful. "I know I'm going to regret asking this," he says slowly, "but was he like this…before?"

"Most of the time," she replies, grinning. There's so much he doesn't know yet.

"Oh god."

"Welcome to my world, Dr Wilson." Laughing she stands on tiptoe, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm glad things are starting to come together."

"Don't get excited just yet," he warns her, enveloping her in a hug. "There's still a lot that could go wrong."

He sounds nervous again. It makes his heart clench. Pulling away, she grabs his hands. "No it won't," she insists, catching and holding his gaze. Not for the first time she wishes she could explain to him what his life was like before his accident. She knows she can't though; he has to figure it out for himself.

Letting go of his hands she pulls away. It's late and she should be going home. With one last 'thank you' to Wilson, she heads for the living room.

House is stretched out on the sofa, his attention on the TV. He's flicking peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth. 'Trying to' she corrects, as one rolls under the couch.

"Slob," Wilson mutters softly, following close behind.

He's smiling though, as she looks back over her shoulder. House carries on regardless, making a big show of catching two at once in his mouth. For a second she falters. The scene is so natural, so House-like, that she wants to walk over and hug him. She settles instead for stealing a peanut. Her breath hitches as he catches her mid-snatch, trapping her hand in the wrapper. The smile he flashes her is fleeting and wonky. She accepts the silent 'thank you' willingly before slapping his hand away.

As the door to the apartment closes behind her, she allows herself a big smile. There's still tension between the two men but that's normal, they used to have periods like that before. They've rediscovered their 'rhythm' - and it appears that's not the only thing. The memory of Wilson's nervous hand waggling makes her giggle as she gets into her car.

TBC