"Talk doesn't come cheap," Greg told me after he popped a Vicodin as we walked to the elevator. "Not with me, anyway."

"You told me you were going to," I said.

"I know that, but thanks for the useless reminder anyway."

"You can't put it off forever. I'm not letting you back out of this."

"I know that, too. But like I said, talk doesn't come cheap. I need a little incentive if you're going to bore me to death with your ever-so-serious rehab discussion tonight."

I frowned. "Incentive?" There had to be a catch to it, of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. One last punishment for moving out for three weeks. It was either move out or play chicken with rush hour traffic. I can't decide which one is the lesser of two evils.

He saw the look on my face and smirked. "You heard me, or have you gone deaf again, you pervert."

"What's your price?" I asked warily, pushing the DOWN button. I glanced at the shiny sliding doors, then at him. "Another round in the elevator with the pervert? Do you want Cuddy to catch us this time?"

"Tempting, but one grope in a tiny metal box is enough for today."

"What do you want?" I asked with a sigh.

"Dinner," he answered simply, like I should have known all along.

"Dinner? Like a fancy restaurant? Now? No way we can get in without a reservation..."

"I don't mean a restaurant," he said, leaning against the wall. "I meant dinner made by you."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing a tired and ruffled looking Chase.

"Oh, Hello, Dr. Wilson." The blonde doctor gave me a polite smile, then noticed his boss. "Going down, Dr. House?" he asked with a shit-eating grin. Everyone was off the clock and the rules no longer applied.

Greg leered at his underling. "I'm game if you are."

"What?" Chase suddenly looked terrified. Gee, I wonder why.

My friend gave Chase one of his patented laser-beam stares and growled, "Right here, right now, and I want Jimmy to watch."

Chase lunged for the buttons. The color drained out of his face before the doors closed.

I rolled my eyes. "You're going to give him a complex if he doesn't sue you for sexual harassment first."

"The little wombat started it. He already has a complex or two, and they have nothing to do with me. Besides, you can't honestly stand there and tell me you wouldn't watch," Greg said with feigned disinterest, as if he was talking about having to buy more shampoo. "We were discussing dinner plans..."

"You were discussing dinner plans," I said pointedly, since he brought it up and I knew what I was going to be doing all evening. "You seem to have this all planned out. I'll bet you were dreaming this up all afternoon."

"That's right. And you're going to make my dream come true."

"Am I?" Of course I was. The only question now was what I was going to have to stop and get on the way home.

"Damn right you are. I have a cane and I know how to use it."

"Do I have any say in this whatsoever?" I asked, picturing myself slaving over the stove for the next ten hours, getting fed up, and sticking my head in the oven.

"No. The more you talk, Jimmy, the more ingredients are going to be added. "

"I figured as much," I grumbled and resigned myself to my fate. "What's on the menu tonight?"

His face broke into a grin that stretched from ear to ear. "Bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate shakes. Made with your own two hands. Take-out food is off limits tonight."

"Of course it is. That would make it hell of a lot easier on me."

"And that would take all the fun out of it."

"It's all junk food. You don't need it," I scolded. He was unmoved.

"It's what I want. Only the best for me. I deserve it."

"Slave driver. What do you want for dessert?" Visions of gigantic slabs of cake and towering ice cream sundaes suddenly filled my head. I hoped there was plenty of Pepto-Bismol in the medicine cabinet. Both of us were going to need it in a few hours.

"The shakes will be fine."

"All right." It was still a weeks worth of calories and fat in one sitting. "What do I get out of all this?"

"The joy of cooking."

"And...?"

The smile faded into a pensive expression mixed with a touch of regret. He could no longer put off the inevitable, but he was still going to try as long as he possibly could. "After we eat," he said, "you talk and I'll listen."

"Are you really going to listen to me, Greg, or should I just talk to the wall and get the same effect."

"Tell me something interesting and I just might listen. You never know." He looked down at the button. "Now how about pushing that damn thing so we can get home. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."