A/N: I'm worn out, packed day, but here's a short update. A LOT happens in the next chapter, in which most questions (about the case, anyway) will be revealed. By the way, I've had a new idea for another story in my series, which if it pans out would make three in line. Working title: Nexus.

Enjoy and thanks for reading!

(H/C)

"Tritter." Cuddy leaned forward, closing the distance a little. "Do you think he would go this far, Maestro?"

House nodded. "He - he wouldn't let go of a vendetta. I haven't thought of him in years, but yes, I think he could take it as far as murder."

"What kind of vendetta?" Wilson asked curiously. The other two looked at him, and then Cuddy nodded.

"It's relevant, I'm afraid. We have to prove motive. In fact, we really need a double motive here, but hopefully we can fill in the other half for the landlord later if we have the right killer."

House sighed. "We would do clinic hours, and the most annoying idiots were in there. Either STDs or emergency sniffles or overreacting parents."

"We still do have to do a few clinic hours, and they still are," Wilson commiserated.

"So one day, Tritter was in there. STD. He was already annoyed by the time I got there from the wait. One of those jerks who thought he should never have to spend a minute of his life in line. I diagnosed him, and I told him to tell any partners he had to be checked, and I did make that plural. He got all offended and went off on how dare I imply that he was cheating on his wife. He was so offended that I was sure he was cheating on his wife. He even started -" House paused for a drink of his Coke. "He started getting physical. Not actually hitting out but trying to use his size and build to intimidate me into apologizing. I refused, and he filed a complaint. Brenda backed me up on his being annoyed even before he went in, and old Nordy, who was chief of staff right then, refused to take any action. Tritter really had no grounds. It was medically relevant to ask for partners to be tested. That should have ended it, but as luck would have it, Tritter's wife came in as a patient in infectious diseases two weeks later."

Cuddy cringed. "Complications of STD?"

"No, actually. It turned out to be another source. But I did remember the name, and I asked her if she had been checked for STDs recently. Tritter was in the room then, and he got all annoyed and threatening again and wound up filling in a whole lot more of the story from his side than I had. She hadn't even known he was being treated. He'd never mentioned it. Once Tritter was in full steam, he said something that did indicate that he had been cheating, and I pointed it out in front of her. From that point on, Tritter was -" House paused again. "He was offended by my presence, and he had to cut me down. On anything. The whole rest of that case, which took several days, whatever I suggested, whatever I was trying to do, and I was just working on it medically, he needed me to be wrong. He never seemed to be able to let it go. We did finally diagnose the wife, but she said she was going to divorce him."

"Did she?" Wilson asked.

"I have no idea. It was a medical case, Wilson. That's all. I don't follow up on people's personal lives; once it stopped being medically relevant, that was it for me."

"Doesn't sound like much for a motive in a murder case," Wilson said.

"It was the attitude," House emphasized. "The man was a megalomaniac, and I hurt his image in front of others. Furthermore, he never got in a successful counter jab to knock me down in front of my people. When someone has a living reminder of their failing, it can fester with them. With the right kind of personality, it can build up to extreme measures, and they would think it's justified. But yes, I'll admit, he didn't swear at that moment that he would ruin my life or frame me. If it had been something that obvious, I would have thought of him long since. And really, the bigger motive would have to be for the landlord; he really killed him. Assuming he did kill him. But people who are like that aren't-"

"Sane?" Cuddy suggested.

House shook his head. "They are sane. They can control their actions, but mentally, they have a different way of viewing the world than most people. That's definitely not saying that they aren't responsible, but they really can take one perceived insult to their image and build a lifetime of dishing out punishment to someone else from it."

"You sure seem to know a lot about the personality for having just met the guy in the clinic and then on a case," Wilson noted.

House flinched but didn't say anything. Cuddy firmly stepped into the gap. "We need to get out of here," she said. "House, this place is too exposed for you now. Somebody is going to recognize you. We've got to get somewhere safe while we figure out how to catch this guy. Assuming he's guilty, but whether he is or not, the longer you stay out in the hospital, the more likely it is that you'll get identified."

"I could -" he started, then glanced at Wilson and stopped.

"Go back to the other side of the hospital?" Wilson asked. Both of the others looked at him in surprise. "It's pretty obvious once I think about it. You wouldn't totally run away from medicine, I think, and you'd hide somewhere private but still familiar. Besides, I heard Lisa up on the roof that first night calling for somebody named Maestro. I didn't see anybody, but knowing now that that's what she calls you, it's easy to fill in the gaps. You've been hiding out over there for 10 years. But what I don't understand is why you never tried to break this case before once you got over the shock of being framed."

"Never mind," Cuddy said firmly. "Maestro, don't go back there. Come home with me, at least for tonight. I have a computer, and I'm sure you can do a lot more with it than I could in research on this. Plus you could even sleep in a bed."

He tensed up there, his eyes falling to his crippled leg. Cuddy hadn't meant that invitation as he had taken it, and she went on. "I didn't mean that. I mean -" She couldn't deny that the idea had crossed her mind at times in the last months in her long discussions with that velvet voice from the shadows, but the murder case was the most urgent issue right now. Every minute he spent in the open increased his exposure. They had to get this solved. "I mean we have to get this case solved. Call my place a base of operations. It's safer than here."

He studied her for a long moment, and time paused for the response. Finally, as if stepping through a door, he nodded once. "Okay."

"Now, let's figure out how to sneak you out of here," Wilson said. "The main entrance gets closed this late, and people have to come in through the ER area, which has the most people around. What if we got a wheelchair and pretended you were a patient?"

House stood so quickly that his leg objected. "No. I'm walking out of here. Most patients in the ER waiting room will be oblivious, tied up with their own issues, but the hospital employees are another story. There is just a chance that somebody down there might have enough years here to remember me. What about a diversion?"

Diversion it was, with Wilson, stopping at the ER front desk to say goodnight, knocking off most of what was on the top of the counter. In the flurry as he overapologized and tried to resort it and knocked it further awry in the process, the staff around who weren't tied up directly with a patient right then bent to help, and House and Cuddy marched as quickly as they could past.

Once outside, Cuddy led the way to her car in the doctor's parking lot, and House got in. Wilson came hurrying out just as she closed the passenger's door. "Lisa," he called. She turned back and fidgeted a bit as she waited.

"We need to get going, James."

"I know. I just wanted to say - I'm sorry."

She nodded. "I am, too, James. About other issues, if the police show up at my apartment door a few hours from now, I might commit murder myself."

"They won't. I mean, I won't. I mean - I do think he's innocent. Really. Can I come over for breakfast tomorrow to help strategize?"

She softened a little. "As long as that's all you plan to do, yes." At that moment, the horn on her car blew, startling them both. They jumped and looked in as House reached across to hit it again. He then reopened the passenger's door.

"Come on, this isn't the bad ending to a B movie. Cut the regrets and let's get out of here."

Wilson straightened up, starting to get offended, but then had to laugh at the turn of phrase. "Night, House," he said. He spun around and headed for his own car.

Cuddy got into the driver's seat. "Nothing fancy, I'm afraid, but it runs," she said.

House shrugged. "Runs better than anything else I've been in the last ten years."

She smiled and started it up. She watched him as she drove through Princeton. He was looking around in part amazement that he was out here, part analysis at the changes during his exile. She managed to leave off serious conversation at least half the way home, but then she couldn't stifle the question any longer. "Maestro," she asked, "what are you going to do?"

He looked over at her. A full minute of silence passed. "I don't know yet," he said finally. "Like you said, the murder case comes first. Or second, but we already went through what came first."

"Yes. James Wilson isn't a bad friend, but I hadn't realized what a relationship with him would be like. Thank you for that." The admission was hard for her. She, too, like Tritter, had an image that she liked to keep for the world. Or at least, she had a long-ingrained and too-harsh expectation, drilled in by her father, of nothing but success, personally and professionally. "Go to hell," she muttered to the stern voice of disappointment that had whispered in her ear for so long.

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until House replied. "I've already been. It isn't worth the trip."

"I didn't mean that to you." The second sentence registered belatedly, and she had to laugh. "I think I've at least visited myself. And no, it isn't worth the trip."

The darkened car sliced on through the shadows and lights of the city, heading for her apartment, and both of the passengers for the moment were silent in the weight of the journey.