A/N - Thanks for the reviews and feedback. I am glad I'm not the only one who finds the House / Wilson / Cuddy triangle fascinating. I hope the House part (which was the hardest to write) fits with the rest of the story.

It Takes An Ending (to send you on your way)

House

His leg hurts. The pain is not yet distracting enough to impinge on his ability to think, but it is above the level of background pain that is with him constantly. He is, he calculates, about an hour away from needing some more vicodin. He searches for distraction, for an excuse not to give in yet, a reason to take the pill later rather than right now – part of the ongoing battle with control that he only periodically cares about winning.

The conversation across the table is of minimal interest. Almost grudgingly House has to admit that Foreman is almost there, close to the solution. The neurologist is getting better at putting all the pieces together – although he still needs to let go of his fear of making mistakes – and the evidence suggests that is going to take a while.

There are times when a set of mystery symptoms is a place to lose himself – but tonight isn't going to be one of them. He worked out what was wrong with the patient before leaving the hospital, only keeping the coup de grace to himself so he could use the debate as cover for getting Wilson out of the office.

Since divorce number 3 became a reality he has been waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it hasn't come. A break in the pattern is disturbing (even if one ignores for a moment the fact that no one should really have a 'pattern' for behaviour in the face of divorce). Experience tells him that by now there should be recriminations, depression, vows to never fall in love again.

A slightly husky contribution to the discussion draws his attention back across the table. Cuddy looks as though she is only partially paying attention, but she has clearly been listening closely enough to throw a suggestion into the pot – a good suggestion as it happens – although he has no plans to tell her that.

He isn't sure what she is doing here. She was in the hallway when he corralled Wilson, but she hardly even socialises with her minions – and she does little without an ulterior motive. So, she must be up to something. He considers for a moment that he might be paranoid. That Cuddy might be interested in the outcome of the case or have felt like a drink with some colleagues. Although he isn't used to accepting the idea that his personal devil might have a yen for social contact. Perhaps, he concludes, people get the devils they deserve.

He is not used to thinking overly much about Cuddy – but right now she may prove to be the distraction he needs. It is odd that she has never been the target of his curiosity. Is it because her defences are more formidable than some of his other victims? Or is it that even he recognises that discretion is sometimes the better part of valour- since if he digs too deeply she is in a position to make his life more difficult? Or is it because he is afraid of what he might find if he looks too closely?

But he is looking closely now – at her and his behaviour towards her. As reluctant as he is to admit it, there has been a shift of ground between them. Since she went to the mat with Vogler to protect him he is conscious of an irritating sense of gratitude and trust. Obviously he has been over-compensating for this by being as rude and uncooperative as ever.

Her lips curve into a slight smile at some private thought and he realises with a jolt that she is – compelling. He is not going to use any more descriptive phrases – he refuses to concede that she is worth looking at. She is bossy and sarcastic and insulting her has become almost second nature to him. Almost. But as she turns her head and arches her neck – completely unaware of the impression she is creating, he sucks in a breath- because in that split second he realises that he wants her.

Their eyes meet in a stuttering, uncomfortable moment and as he watches emotions chase themselves across her face. He doesn't even attempt to keep up, to interpret – he is still amused by the knowledge that he can discompose her without even opening his mouth. A perception that is confirmed when she departs abruptly for the bar and a conversation with Wilson.

He watches her go – appreciating the impression she creates as she moves. Decent body, he catalogues - well perhaps better than decent. A smoky voice – when she isn't yelling. Beauty is subjective he knows, but there is no doubt that she is a woman you'd notice, a woman who'd demand your attention - and then he remembers that she is his boss, or at least the closest thing to an authority figure he recognises. Viewing her as a woman, a desirable woman is just wrong – and he isn't going to do it again.

Her conversation with Wilson rapidly engrosses them both. She leans towards him, listening intently to whatever he is saying until finally she glances back over her shoulder, leaving House in little doubt that he is, to some extent, the subject of their discussion.

While he is still trying to figure out what that means she rests her hand over Wilson's – and a missing piece of the puzzle slides effortlessly into place. He almost hisses as the realisation hits him. How has he missed this? Why has his so-called friend not said anything?

As Cuddy slips away he heaves himself up and moves rapidly across the bar. 'You're screwing her,' he accuses with scant regard for who might overhear.

'Actually I'm not – right now.' Semantics, or something deeper? He pauses, watching Wilson's expression.

'When?'

'Three years ago – the last time I found myself, between divorces.' The bitterness is a distraction and House makes himself see past it, grasping the essentials.

'You didn't say anything,'

'Actually I did, I just omitted the identity of the other person concerned.' He searches his memory, he doesn't deliberately store away details of Wilson's liaisons – they just stay in his mind, the way most things do, until they connect with some other piece of information.

'The woman in the bar – best night you'd had in blah, blah, blah – that was Cuddy?' There is a shadow of something he doesn't recognise in Wilson's eyes, 'you said you didn't know who she was.'

'I lied about that.' Everyone lies, he knows this, but he is momentarily floored by the knowledge that 'everyone' apparently includes Wilson.

'Why didn't you… carry on seeing her?' He doesn't want to think about how that question almost sticks in his throat.

'I wanted to – but she thought I wasn't ready for a relationship. She suggested we wait six months – but I met Julie, who didn't have the same reservations.' There is very little doubt that Cuddy is considerably smarter than the soon to be former Mrs Wilson. He can't blame her for wanting James to be clear about which relationship he was in – and current events do seem to have vindicated her caution.

'Well, you're getting unmarried again.' He is reluctant to accept the idea of Cuddy and Wilson, together. If he is pushed to justify his reaction he will say it is because Wilson is his friend and Cuddy is – well, complicated doesn't really begin to describeCuddy.

'Things are different – I don't think she's interested in revisiting paths not taken.'

'You don't know that – you're attractive in an off beat type of way, if you like ageing Romeo types. She was interested enough at one point – I am sure you can convince her, if that's what you want.' His attempt to be supportive is a woeful failure and it is a good job Wilson knows him well – knows better than to expect anything more.

'I might be inclined to try – but I don't want to get in anyone else's way.' His look is pointed, enough for his meaning to be clearwithout saying anything further.

'I'm not…'

'Not what?' It isn't Wilson who asks the question. Cuddy glides back up to the bar and reclaims her drink. She directs her gaze in his direction and asks the question as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

'Not interested in the lurid details of your night of passion with Casanova here. He's been desperate to tell me all about it.' To her credit Cuddy doesn't as much as bat an eyelid at this, but then with her job he supposes having a good poker face is an advantage.

'Now, what is it about that statement that I'm having difficulty with?' She wonders out loud, 'is it that James would tell you, or that if he did you wouldn't be interested in getting all the details?'

'Your faith in the Clark Kent of Oncology is touching – and yet, I have found out. How did that happen?'

'He guessed,' Wilson contributes – although House suspects Cuddy knew that already.

'But he will tell me all about your – needs – eventually.' Something is wrong, Cuddy isn't responding the way he expects her to, she isn't embarrassed or defensive. Instead she shrugs, pushing her hair back from her face in a gesture that is arresting and observes,

'I suppose that would be the next best thing to finding out for yourself.' Out of the corner of his eye he sees James smoother a smile and he wonders what it is he knows, or thinks he knows, that he is finding so damn amusing.

'Well, it's going to be really fun sharing the details with the rest of the hospital. I was thinking email, but now I'm coming round to the idea of scribbling something on the wall of the men's room – got to be faster.'

'Do you think anyone is going to be interested in something that happened 3 years ago?' Wilson enquires, flicking another of those conspiratorial glances towards his partner in crime – and in other things.

'I think they are going to be fascinated to learn that our glorious leader has anything approaching a sex life. Until now popular opinion has been that she was more machine than woman.' Finally one of his barbs seems to hit home, Cuddy flinches at his words and he ruthlessly suppresses the spurt of regret and carries on. 'I'm sure everyone will pretend to be surprised that you were the one to breech those walls James – found the woman behind the paperwork and the meetings. I think they will be very interested to learn that beneath those snappy little suits and the oh so professional demeanour lurks a woman who picks men up in bars and takes them home with her.' This time though Wilson flinches, it is Cuddy who speaks, her voice low and dangerous.

'If you're hoping I'll slap you for that I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.'

'Isn't it a little late to pretend to be restrained?'

'House - stop it.' He glances over at Wilson who has finally found his voice – his expression is laced with concern.

'It's touching that you're prepared to defend her – but I suspect Dr Cuddy can look after herself.'

'I know she can, she's not the one I think is in trouble here.'

'What does that mean?' He supposes he shouldn't read too much into the fact that it isn't Wilson who answers the question - it's shaping up to be that kind of evening.

'He's trying to work out if all this vitriol is part of your normal, charming personality, or whether its because you're jealous… and I have to say, I'm starting to wonder about that myself.'

It would be a ridiculous suggestion – if it weren't slightly true. He'd refute it angrily and loudly to anyone who happened to pass by if doing so wouldn't mean admitting, to himself at least, that somewhere along the line he'd decided that if anyone was going to have a thing with Cuddy, then it was going to be him.

This is unfamiliar territory and he blames Vogler and his money for this change in the battle that has raged between them across the years. Swiftly and silently he curses everyone who could possibly be held responsible for this situation – and it's quite a list. Cameron for believing he is capable of any sort of relationship, Stacy for reminding him of vulnerability and tenderness, Wilson for picking the worst possible moment to demonstrate his tendency towards romantic comedy and Cuddy herself for transforming, before his eyes, into a beautiful woman with a line in sarcasm to match his own and defences strong enough to remind him he isn't the only one who will do almost anything to avoid being hurt.

He needs more scotch, he needs to down the rest of the painkillers in his pocket, he needs to say something before people start reading too much into his silence.

He looks up, intending to meet Cuddy's gaze and tell her (and Wilson) that he wouldn't sleep with her if she was the last woman alive. But her eyes are amused, her lips already curving into a smile. 'I know,' she says, 'it's the most ridiculous thought.'

'Reverse psychology – is that a tactic that has worked for you in the past?'

'Not a tactic Doctor House. Just an observation.' She finishes her drink and leans forward to kiss James on the cheek. 'I'm going home – call me if you need an adult to talk to.'

She leaves without a backward glance and as the door closes behind her the feeling that he has let something go lingers, perhaps with the scent of her perfume. As he looks at the door in the wake of her departure Wilson says quietly,

'Go after her.'

'Are you kidding, I've only just got her to leave.'

'Don't be an idiot. Go after her – don't think, don't debate and above all don't diagnose.'

'Why?' Wilson rolls his eyes – and then says, with the quiet conviction he uses to such effect on his patients.

'Because she might just be the only woman who can put up with you. Because wanting someone isn't the same as needing them. Because she isn't Stacy or Cameron and equating her with them does her an injustice. And because if you don't, I will.'