Item One: By default, Rose12345 has won the title contest with her suggestion (which I have slightly modified, but that's okay—her idea inspired me)! Congratulations, Rose12345; you will have a character named with the name of your choice in the coming chapters. Let me know your decision through a review or a PM or whatever.
Item Two: The rating on this story has officially gone from K+ to T! You have been warned.
Item Three: I don't own House or Cyrano de Bergerac.

Chapter Two:

"This had better be good," House announced as he walked into Wilson's office.

Wilson glanced up from his telephone conversation with pleading eyes. He held up a piece of paper that read in desperate, hastily scribbled letters, SAVE ME! "There was a 30 percent chance of survival if we had caught it at that stage," he said into the phone, still looking at House. "But even if we had, it would have meant months or even years of—" Incomprehensible chattering arose from the phone that even House had to blink at. "I'm very sorry it turned out this way, but you need to understand that—" As the voice on the other end arose again, Wilson hissed, "Help me!"

"I'll just come back later. You look busy." House turned toward the door.

Wilson frantically threw a pen at his back.

House stared at the pen after it hit the floor, then glanced at his friend. "Dr. Wilson!" he yelled, loud enough to make people in the Oncology waiting room stop what they were doing and listen. "One of your cancer children is coding! We need you in here, stat!"

"I'm having a small medical emergency; can I call you back?" Wilson asked. "Good-bye." He hanged up the phone and glared at House. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you hurt me."

"House, that was a very serious call! I might get sued, and yelling that certainly didn't help!"

"Who'd sue you?" House asked, truly curious. "Everybody knows you don't have a cent since the divorce started."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I can always count on you to be supportive."

"So, is that it?"

"Is what it?"

"The reason you paged me. You needed to be rescued from the big scary phone call?"

"No," he said. "I need some…advice."

House blinked. "Advice? Usually you're the one giving the stuff…a bit too liberally, I might add."

"Yeah, well, I'm…having some trouble," Wilson said uncomfortably. "It's something personal."

"Say no more." House settled into a chair in front of Wilson's desk, pulled out his Vicodin, and dumped two pills onto the desk.

Wilson stared at them quizzically. "Are drugs your solution to everything?"

"I haven't found one that will put money in the bank, but if you take enough of these, they'll blur your bank statement so you can't see how much cabbage you don't have."

He pushed them away forlornly. "This is different."

"Oh," House said knowingly. "Love life got you down?"

There was a pause. "How did you know?" Wilson asked wonderingly.

House pulled out his scrip pad. "The look on your face is one of a man who hasn't had a reason to sing the Hallelujah chorus since Michael Jackson was black. A few little blue—"

"Whoa!" Wilson cried suddenly. "Love life and sex life are two different things."

"Maybe in your world," he snorted, dropping his pad. "Come on, cut to the chase. I've got things to do, places to go, minions to terrorize. Speaking of my minions, though, where are they? Maybe one of them will play therapist for you."

"I haven't seen them."

"Oh, that's right. Cameron's out today—visiting her husband's mother's cousin's…someone—I can't remember who. It's the anniversary of her husband's death."

"Poor Cam."

House waved his hand dismissively. "It's been five years. Get over it. Move on." Wilson looked like he was about to say something, but House cut him off, adding, "And Chase is giving a lecture over at the University."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Cuddy's," House replied. "The professors asked her to send over someone interesting, and she figured his accent would get their attention, even if his medical knowledge doesn't."

"Better not let Chase hear you say that. He might get mad and slug you."

"Chase hits like a girl. A girl with great hair, but a girl nonetheless." House stroked his chin thoughtfully, then said, "I don't know where Foreman is, though. He's not one to run out on his job. Not on me."

"Oh, gee, I don't know, maybe he's outside picking sugar cane," Wilson said, looking at House. "I heard about what you did in the clinic."

House sneered at him. "How long did it take you to come up with that one? No, don't tell me: you've been dying to use it since forever." At Wilson's surprised look, he added, "Oh, please. You've probably been practicing that in front of a mirror every morning for the past year, just waiting for an opportunity. Well, bravo. I'm impressed. Not."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Maybe I should just wait until Cameron gets back. She'll understand—and she won't laugh at me."

"I won't laugh at you!" House promised. "Talk about you behind your back, play cruel pranks to expose your dirty little secrets, and make faces at you when you're not looking, perhaps—but never laugh."

This was invitation enough for Wilson, who took a deep breath and began. "Well…I kind of, sort of, maybe like someone in the hospital a little bit."

House clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "Okay, Jimmy, and how does that make you feel?"

"Like puking." It was House's turn to look shocked. "I mean, she's so smart and pretty and funny, and I'm so—"

"Stupid and ugly and awkward?" House supplied helpfully.

To his amazement, Wilson didn't protest; in fact, he seemed glad that someone understood. "Next to her, yes!" he replied excitedly. "I just get so nervous every time I talk to her now, and it's getting to the point where I can't even look at her without getting heart palpitations—"

"That does sound serious."

"So…what do I do?"

House pretended to be deep in thought. "Well," he mused, "I think I need to know more about this woman. Maybe a weight, height, date of birth, social security number, mother's maiden name, her name would be a good start. Just so I can get a feel for—"

"Oh, no, you don't," Wilson said warningly. "If I tell you who she is, you'll run straight to her and cough up every last detail of this conversation. No, wait, that's too obvious for you. You'd write some sort of love note to her, and make it so disgusting she'd fire me, and you'd sign my—"

"It's Cuddy, isn't it?" House asked, sounding bored.

"How did you—"

"'She'd fire me?' Come on, Jimmy, how stupid do you think I am?"

Wilson groaned. "Oh, boy. I'm doomed."

"I'll say. Believe me, nothing I could tell you would help. Cuddy hates me."

"Cuddy talks to you, which is more than I can say for me."

"Oh. So you want to learn to talk."

"Yes!"

"To a woman?"

"Yes!"

House regarded him coolly. "You're pathetic."

"I know I am! Why else do you think I'd be desperate enough to ask you?"

"To spend some quality time with me. We don't really hang out that much anymore. We should take a day, go see a ball game, drink beer, do something manly, just to see what it's like. I'm free Saturday."

"I need your help!"

"You need Dr. Phil's help. But if you finally get her alone but just can't deliver top performance—"

"Believe me, that will not be a problem," Wilson said, doing his best to sound menacing.

House's lip curled involuntarily. "Good luck. You'll need great luck, but that's all I can offer you now."

"You'll be sorry," Wilson seethed. "One day, Cuddy and I are going to walk in here holding hands, and you're going to think, 'How stupid was I? I thought he couldn't do it.'"

"If you could do it in the first place, then why did you call me here?"

"I needed a pep talk!"

"You were chicken."

Wilson sighed. "I was."

"And so you shall remain." House walked out without another word.

"I love you."

"I love you."

"Let's run away together."

"But what if they find out? What will they do to us?"

"We'll just have to slip past the security cameras and then—"

"House!" Cuddy called from the doorway. She flicked on the lights and came into the room. "Sorry to interrupt your soap opera theatre—" she switched off the TV "—but I need your help."

House blinked. "My help? I didn't know I did that."

Cuddy smiled caustically. "You'll just have to learn, then, won't you?" She sat down in front of his desk, all business. "I just need a small favor. Nothing huge, you understand, just a little something to—"

"I'm going to have to sell my soul or something drastic like that, aren't I?"

"Nothing like that. I'd just like you to ask one simple question to one simple person and that will be that."

Remembering his earlier conversation, House grinned and said, "Let me guess: you want me to ask Wilson if he's madly in love with you."

"Wow," Cuddy replied, sounding slightly disarmed, "what are you, psychic?"

For the second time that day, House was shocked. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—I wasn't serious!"

"Well, I was. I mean, you don't have to ask if he's in love with me or anything." Cuddy laughed shrilly. "Just say something like, 'So Wilson, I was talking with Cuddy, and it turns out she thinks you're really nice and she'd like to get to know you a little bit more. Would you be interested in that?' You know. Short, sweet—all those things you're not."

"Yeah, I could do that, and then afterward we could paint each other's nails and play Barbies." House regarded her tiredly. "Save my breath and ask him yourself."

"But I don't know if he likes me! If I were sure, I'd ask him myself, but I just can't tell—"

"That's half the fun of it," House argued. "Love is a crapshoot. Someone smart said that…oh, yeah! It was me, just now. Why would you want to take a gamble on Wilson, though?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, for starters, his track record is worse than mine, and I—"

"Can't even run," she finished for him. "That was a cheap shot."

"Admittedly so," House said. "I thought chicks weren't hip to that stuff, though. You know, three marriages, long hours, wandering eye—not good traits in a potential mate, you know."

"I don't want to marry him!" Cuddy exclaimed. "I just want to have one date. One. I mean, he's such a nice man, so soft-spoken and easygoing, and he's got the nicest brown eyes, and I'm sure he's having a hard time with his marriage ending, and I just want to be there for him—"

"Oh my God," House said disbelievingly. "You're turning into Cameron. Next thing I know you'll leave Wilson for one of his patients and I'll get stuck explaining the whole thing."

"It's not out of pity," Cuddy insisted. "Obviously I feel for him, but for a while now I've been noticing how nice he is, and I just want to see if he's like that through and through."

"He's not. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"Not by a long shot."

"There are plenty of nice doctors in this hospital. Why him?"

Cuddy shook her head. "I don't know."

"Dr. Simpson's nice, Dr. Winand is nice, Dr. Cameron is very nice, especially if you're open to new things, I'm nice—"

She giggled. "Now I know you're insane."

"I think you should experiment with the rest of your staff before you settle on Wilson. There are other fish in the sea, you know."

"Please?"

House couldn't help but stare at her. Her face was contorted in pure, unadulterated hope, and it unnerved him. He'd never seen her like this before, never quite so vulnerable and open as she was now. It was almost an attractive look for her—except for the fact that Wilson was behind all of it. It just didn't seem right somehow…

She mistook his silence for his imminent refusal. "Well, maybe you're—"

"Oh, fine," he grumbled, suddenly sick of talking about it. "Look, I'll ask him, all right? Even though this is all a disaster just waiting to happen—"

Cuddy smiled in relief. "Thanks, Greg! You're the best! Just let me know tomorrow, okay? See you then…And, uh, don't you have clinic duty about now?"

House glanced longingly at his TV. "I was just about to go down…but my leg hurts really badly today, and I—"

"Not gonna happen," she warned him. "You're doing me a little favor, remember? It's not like you bought me the Hope Diamond or something. Besides, you still owe me from this morning's little fiasco."

"All right, all right, all right," he said. "What's next, am I going to be making coffee runs for you? Feeding your hamster while you're on vacation? Training to be your personal masseuse?"

"Maybe, if you don't do what I asked you to," she said, smiling, and then she was gone.

House began to twirl his cane, slowly at first, and then faster as he thought. So Cuddy liked Wilson. Wilson liked Cuddy. Wilson and Cuddy liked each other. And Greg—dear God, she had called him Greg—where did good ole Greg fit in?

Somehow he didn't see himself playing Cupid. He was crippled, not blind, he'd never learned to use a bow and arrow, and he certainly wasn't Romantic of the Year.

Wilson was such a fool. Sure, he was a good friend and all, but there wasn't a lot to work with when it came to the way he talked. He was a man of very little brain—kind of like Pooh, except without the affinity for honey. His words were simple, his speech merely acceptable, and his nerves hyperactive. Wilson's problem was that he cared too much about how other people saw him, what the right thing to do was, how saying something would make him look.

Cuddy was the exact opposite. Sure, she gave a damn about public opinion, but that was her job as the Dean of Medicine—she had to care. Beyond that, she took matters into her own hands and didn't care what came out of her mouth as long as it got the results she wanted. She liked to talk—most women did, he figured—but at least she always had something new and intriguing to say. She could make anything into a conversation, a debate, or even an argument…so why wasn't she able to talk to Wilson herself?

Oh, God. This was already getting serious.

If it had been just Wilson's feelings at stake, House would have been able to let it go with no trouble. But after finding out that Cuddy—Cuddy!—had goo-goo eyes for the tongue-tied oncologist with pen protectors inside pen protectors, he couldn't ignore it. What Cuddy wanted, Cuddy got. It was a general rule at PPTH…and anyway, he supposed it would be nice to make her happy. It was a small favor, after all…

He sighed and dropped his cane to the ground with a thud. Somehow he was going to have to pull this off.

But how?

Thank you ever so much for giving this a read. Please review!