Chapter 2

Wilson popped his head into Dr. Cuddy's office and found her sitting behind her desk signing papers.

"You busy?" he asked, quickly scanning the room almost expecting to find House hiding behind a chair.

"Well…no, not for you. What's up?" Cuddy asked, resting her pen on the desk and looking up at Wilson.

He walked into the room and stood in front of her, placing his hands on his hips.

"House knows that the bet was my idea," he said, watching her closely for a reaction.

"He what? How?" she asked, dumbfounded at the news.

"He wouldn't tell me," he said, not totally sure he trusted her response. He paused for a moment. "You…uh…you didn't tell him by any chance, did you?"

She glared at him. "I most certainly did not!"

"Sorry," he said contritely, shrugging his shoulders.

"So what did he say?" she asked impatiently.

"He's pissed," Wilson said, almost adding…. what the hell did you expect? …. but thought better of it.

"How pissed?"

"Really really pissed," Wilson said, shaking his head.

"This does not sound good. What did he say?" she asked again, resting her chin on her hand looking up at Wilson, apprehension apparent in her face.

"Well," Wilson said slowly, "he's questioning our friendship." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked hopefully into her eyes for some magical solution to his dilemma.

It was easy to see that Wilson was upset. Cuddy remembered his response when she had asked what he was going to do that Friday after the bet was over. He said that he had done enough damage. And now it was coming back to haunt him in the worst possible way.

"I'm sure you told him that you came up with this idea only out of concern for him."

"He didn't care about that. What pissed him off was that I didn't tell him that it was my idea." His eyes dropped to the floor.

"So, did you apologize?"

"For the bet, yes."

"But?" she asked, her expression inquisitive.

"But not for keeping it from him," Wilson said quietly. As he spoke, he was distracted by some activity just outside the window. He glanced up and saw two birds frantically flying around each other in circles. He thought of himself and House.

"You're not sorry you didn't tell him?" The question quickly brought his attention back to Cuddy.

"What purpose would that have served?" he asked, his voice raised. "House was so screwed up that week, if I had told him, god only knows what he might've done." Wilson realized he was speaking too loudly and lowered his voice. "And afterwards, there was absolutely no reason to tell him."

"Unless he found out," she qualified.

"Well, yes. But that wasn't supposed to happen."

"It never is," she said, leaning back in her chair as if the conversation were over.

"There's more," Wilson said, his words dragging her back to attention.

"Oh god. What?"

"He said you and I conspired against him."

"He would," Cuddy said, not at all surprised that House would believe that.

Wilson rubbed his neck again trying to soothe the tightness that radiated from the back of his head down to his lower spine. He hadn't slept the night before; he hadn't even gone to bed. Instead, he had spent the night sitting on his couch replaying the argument with House over and over in his head. In the process he had lost all track of time as well as the number of beers he was consuming. The next thing he knew, the sun was rising and he had a splitting headache.

"He asked if you and I have weekly meetings to discuss him like a lab rat," Wilson added still rubbing his neck.

"I hope you didn't tell him!" she quipped. Again, she was not surprised that House would ask that question. After all, everything was about him. The fact that it was very close to the truth didn't really matter.

Wilson glared at Cuddy.

"Just checking." She smiled sadly.

"So, I assume he hasn't said anything to you," Wilson said, realizing he was in this predicament by himself.

"No," she said, obviously relieved that she didn't have to deal with House's wrath.

"Have you seen him yet today?" he asked.

"Yes, unfortunately, and he was his usual annoying warped self," she said, shaking her head. She reached down and grasped the edges of her suit jacket pulling them closer together. By her actions and the low cut blouse she was wearing, Wilson knew that House had made some lewd comment about her cleavage.

"Which means he's only mad at me," he said, more so to himself than to her. "How did I get to be so lucky?"

Cuddy leaned back in her chair and studied Wilson. She wished she could help him. "Well… you are his best friend. I'm just his boss. He expects things like that from me," she offered as explanation.

"So, being his boss makes you the automatic enemy." Cuddy was his boss too but he never thought of her in those terms. Well, hardly ever.

"Are you surprised?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"No, not really." He looked out the window again. The two birds were nowhere to be seen now. He wished he could take off like they had. He turned his attention back to Cuddy. "But I could use some help here."

Cuddy heard the pleading in his voice. She truly felt sorry for him. After all, he was in this situation because he was House's best friend and had tried to help him. And now it all blew up in his face.

"I could talk to him," she offered, "but we both know that wouldn't do any good."

Wilson nodded in agreement.

"You can always apologize for not telling him," she suggested, although she was grabbing at straws with that idea. She already knew how Wilson felt about that.

"No, I can't. I'm not sorry that I didn't tell him." The young doctor thought for a moment. "If we were forced to relive that week over and over again due to an unexplained time warp, I would do the same thing, even knowing what I know today."

"What did you just say?"

"Uh, sorry, there was a Star Trek marathon on TV last night." Wilson shrugged his shoulders. "Never mind. I'll handle it. This is between House and me anyway. I just thought you should be aware of the situation."

She nodded sympathetically. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he said unconvincingly. She watched as he turned to leave her office, closing the door quietly behind him. Resting her head against her chair, she looked up at the ceiling and contemplated Wilson's predicament with House. She silently gave thanks that she wasn't the one that the scruffy diagnostician was angry with, although she did feel bad for Wilson. Shaking her head, she picked up her pen and resumed signing forms.