Author's Note (Part One): Thanks for sticking around to read and review! Please forgive any beer related faux pas-- I'm not a big drinker, so I had to rely on a few beer snob friends of mine. This chapter took a while, so I decided to stop nit-picking and just post it. Hopefully the next chapter won't be as stubborn. Hope you enjoy... and please review, won't you?

Oh yeah, Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy, James Wilson and the world they inhabit belong to someone much cooler (and much richer) than me.

Chapter 5

"Two pints of Guinness," House directed the twenty-something bartender.

"I don't like Guinness" Cuddy frowned as the attractive barkeep laid a glass in front of her. "It's like drinking a loaf of bread."

"Who said it was for you?" He replied, sliding the glass to sit beside his and taking a swig of beer.

"Excuse me," Cuddy motioned to the bartender. "Can I have a glass of white wine?"

"It's boggin'," the bartender replied in a thick Scottish drawl.

"Bogging?" said Cuddy, confused.

He leaned over the bar and grinned. "It's shite."

"Oh." Lisa blushed. He was flirting with her. Or, at least, she thought he was. It had been so long since someone flirted with her she felt like she might not be able to recognize it. "What do you recommend?"

Unbelievable. House could not believe that Cuddy was making eyes at this idiot with his carefully tousled hair, indie t-shirt and faux-vintage jeans. He stifled gagging noises and pretended to be transfixed by the game on the pub television so he could listen in without seeming interested in their exchange.

"Try this," the bartender said, pouring a bottle of beer into a cold glass. "It's Scottish ale. Warm, sweet and complex. Unlike Guinness, which can sometimes be too heavy and bitter depending on the style."

Though out of practice, Lisa was pretty sure that last remark was a subtle jab at her drinking companion. He placed the glass in front of her with a seductive smile. She returned it before picking up the glass and taking a sip. Cuddy had never been a beer drinker, she preferred wine or a cocktail, but found herself pleasantly surprised by the flavor. It tasted like smoky caramel with a hint of warm chocolate. "It's really very good."

"Better than Guinness any day." She couldn't help but laugh. The bartender was definitely coming on to her.

House had decided that was it. First William Wallace insulted his beer, then insulted him, but the laugh was the last straw. Low, tempting, breathy. That was his laugh, the one Cuddy reserved for him. He turned to face them; the Scot gaping at Cuddy while she drank her beer, blushing.

"Isn't he just a dream?" House mocked. The sexy smile on Cuddy's face was quickly replaced by terror. "Listen, Franz Ferdinand, we were thinking of turning our twosome into a threesome. Interested? Wait, are you a front or back-door man--"

"House!" Cuddy interrupted, mortified.

"If myself prefer the--"

"House!" Cuddy practically screamed his name.

"Excuse me. Customer." The bartender pointed down the bar to a couple college girls and excused himself.

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"You should thank me."

"Thank you? For what exactly?"

"For saving you. That guy only wanted one thing and it wasn't to sell you a glass of beer."

"I know!"

"Are you saying you--"

"Maybe. I'll never know now. You ruined it."

"How could you like that guy? He's one of those people who listen to obscure singer-songwriters wearing his high school sports shirt and weathered jeans, walking around in his Chuck Taylors with his messenger bag, having deep conversations about Elvis Costello, Post Modernism and the Cabbage Patch Kids. Do you really want to sleep with someone that full of pretentious bullshit?"

"I slept with you, didn't I?" she smirked. "And besides, what does it matter if I do want to sleep with someone like that? Why do you care?"

He shrugged, "I don't."

"Right," she said, taking satisfaction in the fact that he was, at least, a little jealous, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Wilson lay spread on top of his bed clutching a white blouse, fully clothed, red-nosed and snoring. Jules, stood over him, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept, worried. As soon as he was out for the evening, she had taken the opportunity to search his apartment, or, rather, Amber's apartment. 28 bottles. She had found 28 bottles, half hidden, and she hadn't even checked the bedroom for fear she would wake him up. Six were empty, discarded in the kitchen garbage can, and most were Scotch. She recognized the one their parents gave him when he graduated from medical school, which James had been saving it for retirement, sitting on the coffee table nearly drained.

Jules let her mind briefly wander back to that street corner. How angry Wil was, how defensive Joe was and her, standing there like an idiot, torn between them. Looking down at James' slumbering form, it was impossible to believe that this was the same man. The man who years early condemned his younger brother for his vices; chastised him for his gambling, screamed at him for his irresponsibility, damned him for his addiction. He looked lost even while sleeping, his brow furrowed and his expression pained.

She knew that tomorrow they would have to talk about his loss, about his drinking. It wouldn't be pleasant, most likely he would brush off her concerns. She dreaded it, but not as much as she feared losing another brother to alcohol. Jules threw a blanket over James and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. She set the alarm on her phone before curling up on the couch and nodding off to sleep.

"Give me your keys." Cuddy held out her hand, waiting.

"I'm fine."

"Give me your keys, House," she said firmly.

House rolled his eyes and tossed her his keys. After catching them clumsily, Cuddy paid their bar tab and grabbed her coat. "You know, just once it would be nice for you to pay. After all, you're the one always dragging me to these places."

"Not like you would have anything better to do," House said as he got up from his stool, stumbling slightly.

She quickly wrapped an arm around him for support. "Did you really need that fourth pint?"

"Need? No. Want? Yes." House draped his arm over Cuddy's shoulder as the shuffled toward the door.

"Would you like some help?" Much to House's irritation, the Scot had decided to temporarily leave his post and offer his assistance.

"No thanks, laddie. We're good," House snapped.

"Actually, I'd love some help. Thanks," Cuddy accepted gratefully, but not before shooting House a look. The bartender slid behind her and took her place supporting House leaving her free to hold open the door.

The three of them walked down the street in silence mostly, only peppered with House's complaints. When they finally reached Cuddy's car, the bartender helped House to the front seat and shut the door.

Greg watched in the side mirror as he heard Cuddy thank the Scot. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help." As she turned to walk away, the bartender caught her hand.

"In case you ever get tired of Guinness," he said suggestively as he slipped a piece of paper into her hand.

House frowned as he saw Cuddy smile warmly, circle the car and wave to the bartender as opened the door and got in

"Guess he changed his mind the Cuddy sandwich. Either that or he needs a green card."

She laughed and shook her head, but didn't answer. They rode in silence the rest of the way; he lost in thought, studying her carefully, she flattered and excited that someone still found her attractive.

Author's Note (Part Two): Next time, weepiness-- had to happen sometime.