A/N: Kinda sorta slashy

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson."

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy. Have you–"

"Morning Cuddy." Greg broke in. "I see the twins are saying 'good morning' too. Is that a new Wonderbra?"

With a roll of her blue eyes, the Dean of Medicine slapped a file to his chest. "New patient.
Twenty-seven year old male with dizziness, headaches, a rash and memory loss. No signs of trauma."

"I'm enthralled." Without looking at the file he tucked it under his arm and limped to the elevator. "And your bra strap is showing."

Adjusting her blouse, she said, "Just go see your damned patient," and huffed off.

I joined him at the elevator. "You have no shame, do you?"

"Shame is overrated."

"You do realize she can fire you."

"And yet I'm still here."

"Would it kill you to show your boss a little respect?" I asked as the elevator opened and we stepped inside.

"I never said I didn't respect Dr. Cuddy," said Greg, looking at me with a crooked grin. "Her bra strap was showing. I could have asked if the Midol was kicking in yet but that would have been rude."

"And disrespectful," I pointed out, noting his slightly strange but improving mood

"Exactly."

The elevator beeped and the doors slid open.


By the time he came to see me in my office later that afternoon I was up to my neck in paperwork and Greg's mood had shifted from a bit strange to weird and contentious. His eyes had a peculiar glow.

"You feeling okay, Greg?"

"Just fine. Still have no shame, though," he replied with a low chuckle, then dry swallowed a Vicodin.

"Look, I've got all this paperwork to do–"

"I don't care about your goddamn paperwork, Jimmy."

I snapped my head up. Greg was still across the room, leaning against the door as if he didn't want anyone else coming in.

"What's wrong, Greg?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine, just like I said."

Living with Greg House meant living with his moodiness, he can go from docile to aggressive in five seconds flat. Whatever set him off this time it wasn't me, and his aggression wasn't aimed at me. In the meantime there was nothing I could do except see where and how he would take it.

"You could never hate me," he said, that peculiar glow remaining in his eyes. "That's a pretty bold statement. Do you stand by it?"

"Yes," I answered, then threw in "Do you?" just to see his reaction.

"I'm asking the questions here." Greg's voice was almost a growl.

My moody friend left the door behind and limped towards my desk.

"Do you stand by it?" he asked again.

"Yes, Greg."

"Good," he said, his voice a bit calmer.

At that moment I realized he asked the question just hear me say the answer out loud.

"Do you know what this whole situation reminds me of, Jimmy?" Limping closer to my desk he continued without waiting for a comment. "Day and night. Summer and winter. Cats and dogs. What are those things, Jimmy?"

"I don't know."

"All those years of college and medical school and you don't know? They're opposites. Opposites attract, isn't that right?"

"That's what they say," I replied, still wondering what the hell he was talking about and why he was talking about it.

"Believe it," Greg replied, rounding the desk. "Opposites attract, balance each other out, the good and the bad. People talk about finding that so-called special someone and how they have so much in common. That's bullshit. Who wants to live with clone of themselves? I sure as hell don't."

Before I knew what was happening he grabbed my tie and yanked me out of the chair, pulling me closer until we were nose to nose.

"Greg, wait! What are you–"

"Shut up." His scowl transformed into a nervous laugh. His right hand was still wrapped around my tie while his left brushed the hair out my eyes. "Three months. Three months under my roof and you never said a goddamn word. Christ, Jimmy, you do deserve to sleep in my bed."

With that he kissed me, putting some hidden and raw emotion behind it. He drew me in, holding the kiss long and deep, a quiet moan escaping from his throat. God knows how long we were together like that until he broke away and pushed me back into the chair.

Neither of us spoke. I glared at him, my chin feeling coarse from where his beard had scratched it. He licked his lips, then looked around as if it suddenly dawned on him where he was.

"Finish your fucking paperwork, Jimmy. You know where I'll be," he muttered, then limped out of my office, taking extra care to slam the door behind him.