Looking around, House saw his boss sitting on the sofa.

"Get over here," he said, patting the empty space next to him on the bench. "I'm your piano man, not your chauffeur." She slid onto the bench and gave a quick him a kiss on the cheek. "That's more like it. Just don't request 'Chopsticks' and 'Melancholy Baby' or my head might explode."

"Do you know 'Moon River'? Cuddy asked, resting her chin on her lover's shoulder.

"Like the back of my hand," he said, and launched into a rendition that made her believe him.

After he finished, Cuddy had to ask, "How long have you been playing?"

House turned and said, "Since I was thirteen. One of my birthday presents that year was piano lessons. By my next birthday I didn't need a teacher anymore."

"Wow."

"At least it wasn't tuba lessons. The kid next door got those."

"Did you ever think about becoming a professional musician?"

"I have to admit it crossed my mind. My mother seemed to think I was the second coming of Van Cliburn and would have supported me in that. But in the end it was just a silly pipe dream. Besides, how many versions of 'Moon River' does the world need?" He didn't know why he was telling her all that. Even Wilson didn't know about his brief flirtation with becoming Van Cliburn, Jr.

"Do you know 'Danny Boy'?"

House smirked. "What do you think?"

For over an hour House entertained his audience of one with 'Danny Boy', 'Yesterday', the theme from Love Story, and even threw in some Brahms and Liszt just to hear more glowing praise of his piano skills. It was something he thoroughly enjoyed.

A loud knock on the door made him stop in mid-song.

The doctor looked from his lover to the door and back again. "I didn't order a second course...or dessert."

Opening the door, a red-eyed and teary Wilson stood holding a suitcase.

"What the hell happened to you?" House blurted out, concerned. He had never seen his friend look so distraught.

"She threw me out," Wilson said, his voice quavering. "She never wants to see my face again."

"Get in." He opened the door wider. As Wilson passed, House observed a bruise under his left eye.

As he closed the door, the older doctor heard Cuddy. "James, I'm so sorry."

"Dr. Wilson needs a place to stay," House said as he limped back to his guests. He turned his friend's cheek and looked at the growing bruise.

Cuddy saw it and gasped. "Did she hit you?"

The younger shook his head. "No, it's not what you think. It's nothing..." He trailed off and stared off into space.

"Lisa," House said softly as he helped Wilson out of his coat. "I think we better call it a night."

She nodded in agreement. "Yes, we should." She gathered up her coat and purse and watched sadly as Wilson staggered to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," said House.

"Greg, you have nothing to be sorry about." She gave him a quick kiss. "Make sure Wilson is all right. I'll see you tomorrow." Cuddy turned and left without looking back.

In the kitchen, Wilson helped himself to the bourbon. By the time House filled a bag with ice, he had knocked back four shots.

"Take it easy. You're not a fish." House put the bag of ice in Wilson's hand, then examined the bruise again. "This didn't just spontaneously appear. Somebody got you good."

Holding the ice to his swelling cheek, the younger doctor said, "Julie didn't hit me. She was angry, just started throwing things, and I got in the way. It wasn't on purpose."

"What hit you?"

"An ashtray."

"At least there wasn't coffee in it."

Dr. Wilson let out a stifled laugh. "Dammit House, I went there tonight with every intention of working our marriage out. She wouldn't listen to word I said..." The laugh became a sob.

House put his arm his friend's shoulder. "Jimmy, it's okay. You can stay here as long as you need." He fetched another glass and poured two more bourbons. "One more for old time's sake. Tonight you've earned the right to be miserable. Drink up."