A few weeks passed and we settled into a sort of fuzzy domestic bliss. I made the meals and he chowed them down like every meal was going to be his last. He dirtied the dishes and I washed them. I woke up with his arms around me. We talked, we laughed, we kissed each other like two teenagers after the prom. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was enjoying every second of it. Was it perfect? No. What is? I liked him and he liked me and that was fine for now.

The sound of rattling keys, then the front door swung open. I took one look at his drawn, haggard face and asked, "Long day?"

It was nearly ten o'clock and he just now walked in the door. He nodded and limped over to the closet to hang up his jacket.

"You hungry? I can heat up some leftovers."

"Not right now."

"You sure? It'll take just a minute."

"I could use a drink," he muttered, walking past me to the kitchen.

His new case was driving him mad. A 16-year-old girl, emancipated and living on her own, with a laundry list of symptoms. House was convinced she was hiding something--aren't they all?--and was wracking his brain trying figure out what exactly she felt the need to hide at the expense of her health. Throw in some ranting and raving about Foreman from House and my day felt nearly as long as his. Nevermind that I got home four hours ago and had eaten dinner and dessert and had the dishes washed and put away.

I watched him pour himself a drink. "Your patient okay?"

"She's stable."

"That's good. You think it's cancer?"

"It's a strong possibility."

"Just let me know if you need some help. Why aren't you letting Foreman do the clinical trials?"

"He doesn't need my permission," House answered with a hint of a devilish grin.

"So why don't you tell him that?"

"He doesn't need me to tell him that. Foreman's a big boy. He doesn't need Daddy's approval for everything. When he finally figures that out he can do his damn clinical trials. Until then, I'm going to have fun watching him pout."

"What happens if I let Foreman in on the little mind game you're playing?" I asked.

He finished his drink and began to pour another. "You won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because whatever mind games going on between Foreman and myself are none of your concern. Besides, you should know by now that sticking your nose where it doesn't belong will usually end up with your nose getting bloodied. We don't want that, do we?"

"No," I agreed, getting out a glass and filling it with his scotch. "Why can't you just make easy for Foreman and easier for you and just let him do the trials?"

"Life isn't that easy. Real life doesn't have a set of instructions. Medicine isn't laid out in nice little rows marked 'yes' and 'no'. Foreman should know that by now. But he doesn't so now he has to pay the price. He should stop spending so much time trying to prove he's not me and put a little more effort in actually trying to be a doctor." House smirked at me. "Admit it, you like watching me watching him pout."

"Not really," I answered truthfully. "You think this 'tough love' approach will work with Foreman?"

"There's no love lost between me and Foreman," House replied stoically. "When he gets tired of asking me, he's going to tell me. Until then I'm going to yank his chain because I can." He rubbed his bad thigh and grimaced. "I need to sit down."

I walked with him to the sofa and sank into the middle cushion, then watched him take his time sitting down. He flopped back and closed his eyes, letting out a big, heavy sigh as he did.

I raised an eyebrow and asked, "You okay?"

"Just tired."

I placed a hand on his shoulder and felt the results of his long, tiring day. He was tense, like he was ready to jump off the couch and run screaming out into the street.

Something had to be done about that.

Without a word I got up and gathered up some pillows. When I came back into the living room I could see him looking over in my direction with more than a little curiosity, his eyes glancing from me to the pillows to me and back again. His expression became even more puzzled when I dropped the pillows at his feet.

"Get on the floor," I ordered.

His mouth dropped open. After a few moments he said, "You do realize that a hardwood floor and my leg are a bad combination."

"That's what the pillows are for," I said, arranging them. "It's only for a little while and you've got plenty of pillows to put under your leg."

"But why am I supposed to get on the floor in the first place?"

"You're all tense and wound up; I'm going to help you relax."

"And I have to get on the floor?"

"Yes."

"Wilson--"

"Give me three minutes," I pleaded. "If you're uncomfortable and your leg starts to hurt, just say the word and I'll stop."

He considered for a few seconds, then inched his way over to the edge of the sofa. "Good grief," he muttered, gingerly lowering down to the pile of pillows, "and you all say that I'm difficult."

I maneuvered my over so my legs were bracketed around him. His shoulders were just the right height and still as tense as piano wire, ready to snap at any moment. Just as I began to rub the back of his neck, he hunched his shoulders and made what could only be described as an irritated growl.

"Relax," I instructed, easing off a little. "Settle down and relax. This will be a lot easier if you do."

"You and your brilliant ideas," he grumbled, but he did ease his shoulders back.

I began again, rubbing slow circles along the back of his neck and over his shoulders. In only a few minutes I could feel the tensions flowing out and his muscles loosening up. The irritated growl grew into an appreciative hum of satisfaction. "Oh….yeah," he groaned with an obscene amount of lust. "Where the hell did you learn how to do this with your hands?"

"I was married three times, remember? It's amazing what nifty skills you can pick up by having three wives."

"I'm surprised these neck-rubs weren't part of your divorce settlements."

My neck-rubbing skills were one of the many things that led to my first divorce, but I decided House didn't need to know that. I just continued on, letting his occasional grunts and groans tell me all I needed to know. His troubles were put on the back burner. He was literally in my hands. It was just me and him. That's how it was going to stay. I was going to see to that.