It was only 7:30 in the morning, but Dr. Gregory House had been up for nearly 45 minutes. He sat at the kitchen table in well-worn jeans and a plain black tee-shirt, finishing his first cup of coffee while watching ominous gray storm clouds roll by through a window that needed a good cleaning. The day promised rain, a promise it fully intended to keep. That was fine. There could be grapefruit sized hail for all he cared. He wasn't planning on going outside. He could think of one or two indoor activities that would keep his attention.

Cuddy hadn't said anything about breakfast or lunch, and House himself hadn't thought about it until the morning caffeine rush plugged his brain back in. She was in charge of the champagne. He didn't expect her to bring anything except that and the Jack Daniels shirt. There was cereal and peanut butter if she got hungry and wasn't feeling too picky. Plus he could always remind her that if she wanted a big fancy lunch, she should have said something about it days ago.

Rain began to splatter against the window as House limped back over to the kettle to refill his cup. The forecast was the same for the next three or four days–rain, rain and more rain. All the more reason to stay indoors, preferably under the covers. He glanced impatiently at the clock above the stove. Still more than hour before Cuddy was due to arrive. The lousy weather would probably slow her down. He could live with that. Better she take her time and drive carefully. She didn't need to fly down the road, lose control, and slide into a ditch. That would certainly put a damper on their day.

House resumed his place at the table and stared at the rain without really looking at it. He was feeling giddy, like a little kid who couldn't wait to rip open presents at Christmas. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. Wait a second...yes he could, when he was basically doing the same thing: waiting for Cuddy. It was the day he waited for Cuddy to come back from Des Plains. Sitting in his silent apartment, staring past the windows and walls, waiting to hear that knock on the door. She had brought champagne then, too.

He sipped his coffee and wondered if she had been looking forward to this Saturday as much as he had been.


"I know I'm late," Cuddy said as she scurried into the apartment, dripping wet. It was twenty minutes after nine. The rain hadn't let up. If anything, it had gotten worse over the last hour or so. "Please don't be mad at me. I got stuck behind not one, but two accidents. Traffic was backed up all over the place."

"I'm not mad," House said with complete sincerity as he closed the front door. "But I was starting to get worried. Why didn't you call?"

"I forgot my cellphone on the dresser," she sighed, thumping the package she had been carrying onto the counter, then stalked past him to the bathroom and reappeared with a towel over her head. "By then I was past the second accident and only a few minutes from here. If I had pulled over to use a payphone, I probably would have ran into a third accident, and you would really be pissed."

"I'm not mad at you, Lisa. I knew the weather would slow you down. Perfect day for a monsoon, huh?"

"Too perfect. I couldn't have timed it better if I tried," she replied with a short laugh.

He smiled and she relaxed a little. "Care for some champagne, Dr. House?" She returned his smile as she began to rummage through the package on the counter.

"Now? Why don't we save it for dinner?"

"I brought wine for dinner."

As if to prove her point beyond a reasonable doubt, two bottles of red wine were handed to House for his inspection. Fancy labels from places he had never heard of. He didn't know squat about wine, but he knew his boss didn't pick it up on the clearance rack from the nearest convenient store.

"Can I assume we are having a dinner that is worthy of this fine wine, Greg?" She draped the towel over a chair and looked at him expectantly, hoping she could hide her disappointment if the evening meal turned out to be a delivery from a pimple-faced teenager.

He nodded at the fridge and said, "See for yourself."

She crossed over to the fridge, opened the door, and beamed brighter than the sun. "Is that key lime pie?"

"The best key lime pie this side of the Mississippi, dear Lisa."

"Those steaks must be an inch thick. Wow."

"The best steaks from the best cows. The best potato salad from the best potatoes in Idaho. The best asparagus from...wherever the hell they grow asparagus."

"I see I'm not the only one who spent too much money for today," she said. "I must say you outdid yourself, Greg."

"Surprised?"

"A little," Cuddy confessed, walking back over to the counter. "Now how about some champagne?"

He tilted his head at her. "It's not even ten in the morning yet."

"Champagne is for special occasions. Special occasions happen at all hours," she informed him while handing over the bottle. "Am I wrong in saying this is a special occasion?"

"Not at all, boss," he answered, then looked at the label. "Roederer Cristal. Fancy schmancy. This stuff must have put a dent in your wallet. Did you have to smash your piggy bank on the sidewalk for this?"

"That's a five hundred dollar bottle you're holding, so be careful." She pulled out two sparkling crystal champagne flutes and walked over to him, watching as his eyes nearly fell out of his skull. He put his arms around the bottle and cradled it like an infant.

"What the hell...? Jesus Christ, Lisa, you didn't have to–"

"You're right. I didn't have to. I wanted to. Now open that thing up before it gets warm."

The cork popped, ricocheted off the ceiling and landed in the sink. House filled the gleaming flutes and grinned as they bubbled over.

"Ridiculously expensive booze, crystal glasses," he mused, taking one, "Be careful, Lisa, or I might come to expect this every night."

"Sounds good to me. You bring the key lime pie and I'll bring the champagne." She raised her glass. "Here's to us."