A lot of people really dug this prompt so allow me to say this to my fellow fic writers: Take it! I went with a more playful, Alvie-powered version of this prompt, but it could obviously go in many different, heavier directions. If you want to write your alternate version of Help Me, where there is Cuddy's grandfather's book, but no collapsed crane in Trenton, go forth and fic it. xo, atd

After making her plans with Alvie, Cuddy called Lucas.

"I'm going to be late tonight," she said.

"No! But your mom is watching Rachel!" he whined. "I was hoping we were going to have a nice quiet evening sitting on the couch, eating microwave popcorn, watching CSI: South Beach, and canoodling."

She frowned.

"Didn't we watch that horrible show last night?"

"No, that was NCIS: Long Beach."

"Ah," Cuddy said.

"How late do you have to work anyway?" he said, his voice getting that tetchy quality it got when he was upset.

"I shouldn't be home much later than 10," she said.

(Hey, she never said it was work: He did.)

"Just remember, Lisa. You can't be married to your job and to me."

That line of reasoning, as always, touched a nerve.

"What did I tell you about respecting the work I do here at the hospital?"

"Easy there, Madame Dean. I respect it. I just also respect the sanctity of date night."

"There will be plenty of date nights in our future," she offered, half-heartedly.

"Good point. Alright, babe. I guess I'll just. . .order a pizza and sit here, by myself. Alone. Without companionship. Solo. Me, myself, and I."

"I get it, Lucas."

######

Alvie and House had just ordered their first round when Cuddy appeared in the doorway of Sullivan's, looking important and glamorous, as ever, and scanning the room. She spotted them.

"Hey look!" Alvie said, brightly, as she approached. "It's Dr. Cuddy!"

"What the hell she doing here?" House hissed, glaring at him.

"It's possible that I invited her to join us."

"You idiot!"

"Also, it's possible that I told her it was your idea. So, your call on whether or not you want to go with that story. But you better decide fast, because she's going to be at the table in 3. . .2. . .1."

"Cuddy!" House said brightly, as both men stood up. "So glad you could make it."

"Thanks for inviting me. I have to admit, I was . . . pleasantly surprised."

Alvie got up, gesturing for Cuddy to squeeze in next to House. She took off her sports jacket, revealing a sleeveless silk blouse underneath. Alvie and House practically had to roll their tongues back in their mouths, like cartoon characters.

"Whatchya drinkin, pretty lady?" Alvie said.

"Vodka martini," she said. "And here"—she handed him her credit card. "Put the whole bill on my tab."

"Sweet!" Alvie said, taking the card and bounding off.

"That's not necessary," House said.

"Actually, it is. You know how much I've been wanting to thank you for tracking down that book."

"It was nothing," he said. Then he added: "Have you read it yet?"

"I'm about halfway through."

"Your grandfather's a good writer. Did you get to the chapter on appendectomy incisions? He was ahead of his time."

"You read the book?" she asked, incredulously.

He shrugged.

"Of course."

Her mind flashed briefly to Lucas, who could barely even feign interest in the book. Then she refocused.

"Your friend Alvie is quite the character," she said.

"He's probably halfway to Puerto Rico now with your credit card, by the way," House cracked.

"I trust him," she said.

"You always were the overly trusting sort," he said, looking at her.

"Ah, ye of little faith," she said, as Alvie returned to the table, precariously juggling three drinks: scotch for House, beer for him, and Cuddy's martini.

He sat down.

"Can I have your olives?" he said to Cuddy.

"Knock yourself out," she said, handing them to him.

He tossed one in the air and caught it in his mouth.

They had a round of drinks. And then another one. Conversation was flowing freely with Alvie, of course, in rare form—joking, doing funny voices, gesturing wildly with his hands—and making Cuddy laugh so hard tears were coming out of her eyes.

"I can't believe you never told about your friend Alvie," she said to House.

"I also never told you about that one time I had the clap," House said. "Some things are better kept secret."

"Me and House are best friends on the down low," Alvie said. "I'm his undercover brother from another mother."

"He is like the annoying little brother I never had," House agreed.

"So you guys were roommates at Mayfield?"

"Yup!" Alvie said. "Roommates, partners in crime and partners in rhyme."

"Partners in rhyme?" Cuddy said, glancing at House, a wickedly delighted smile on her face.

"He's just kidding," House said quickly.

"You don't know about MC House? His rhymes are dope. And that's no joke!"

"Your rhymes are dope?" Cuddy said, sipping on her martini and giggling. "I learn something new about you every day, House."

"Oh yeah," Alvie enthused. "We did a song together at the Mayfield Talent Show. It was tiiight."

"How much clinic duty am I going to have to do to assure that you're not going to tell anyone about this? Ever?"

"Oh a lot," Cuddy teased. "So sooo much clinic duty."

She playfully rested her hand on House's arm.

"Thanks Alvie," she said. "I owe you one."

Just then, Alvie noticed the ring on Cuddy's finger.

"Wait a second!" Alvie said, breaking into a huge grin. "Congratulations!"

He thumped House heartily on the back.

"For what?"

"You didn't tell me you guys were getting married!"

"We're not!" House and Cuddy replied hastily, in unison.

"Is that not an engagement ring? Because if the bling is true, you must say I do."

"It is an engagement ring," Cuddy admitted. "I'm just. . ."

"She's marrying some other guy," House grumbled.

"What?" Alvie said, genuinely bewildered.

"Yes, my fiancé Lucas. He's a . . . private investigator."

Alvie looked at House, then at Cuddy.

"Then he should investigate why you're marrying some other dude when you're obviously in love with my man House!" Alvie said.

Then he began to rhyme:

"I ain't blind.

So I see it's true.

That Cuddy loves House.

And House loves you."

House and Cuddy exchanged a nervous glance.

"I'm in love with my fiancé," Cuddy said, unconvincingly.

"As much as you love House?" Alvie said.

There was an awkward silence. Finally, House stood up.

"This is my cue to go to the men's room," he said. "Excuse me."

Alvie and Cuddy watched him walk away.

A few minutes later, Alvie's phone rang.

He looked down: An incoming call from Greg House. He was about to say, "Hey, House is calling me!" but Cuddy was looking down at her own phone, not paying attention.

He answered.

"Yo."

"Yes or no: Did the words, 'Hey, House is calling me!' just come out of your mouth?" House asked.

"No, of course not," Alvie said, defensively.

"Good. Then this is what I need you to do. I need you to excuse yourself from the table because you have to deal with this phone call."

"How do I have to de—"

"Alvie, don't speak. Just hang up the phone and say these exact words: 'Gotta take care of something for a minute. I'll be right back.' Can you do that? Nothing more and nothing less. Then, don't come back to the table until I text you."

"But what if—?"

"Alvie, just do it." And he hung up.

Alvie glanced at Cuddy, who was now looking at him expectantly.

"I, um, gotta take care of something for a minute," he recited. "I'll be right back."

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

Alvie's mouth dropped open.

"Actually, um. . .um. . .it's my grandmother," he improvised. "She's dying."

"Dying?" Cuddy put her hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

"Not dying dying," he stammered. "Dying … for me to come visit her. Yeah. So sometimes I've gotta, you know, talk to her on the phone until she falls asleep. I sing sometimes to her, too. Lullabies and shit."

"You sound like a very good grandson."

"I am."

House, who was watching this exchange from the corner of the bar, did a facepalm. Alvie was clearly deviating from the script.

But Alvie was now making his way out of the bar. Cuddy didn't look particularly suspicious, either.

House came back, pretending to wipe his wet hands on his jeans.

"The time honored bathroom tradition," he cracked. "Step one: Vigorously rub hands under air blower. Step two: Dry hands on pants."

Then he looked around. "Where'd Alvie go?" he asked innocently.

"He has to go sing his grandma to sleep. Isn't that sweet?"

"He what?" Then he shook his head. "Nevermind."

He sat down next to her.

"Sorry about the whole ring thing before. Alvie doesn't have much of a filter."

"It's okay. He was just expressing his opinion," she said.

"He's actually, um, very intuitive," House said, eyeing her tentatively.

"House, don't," she scolded.

"I'm just saying. Alvie sees the truth."

"House. . ."

His looked at her, pleadingly.

"Are you sure you wanna marry this guy, Cuddy?"

She looked down at her martini.

"Of course I'm not sure. How can anyone be sure about such a thing?"

"I'm sure," he said. "I'm sure about my feelings for you."

"House, don't. You're just trying to confuse me."

He lifted her chin with his thumb.

"I'm not. . .I'm not trying to confuse anyone."

He leaned toward her and kissed her. When she didn't resist—she didn't exactly kiss back, either, just let his mouth graze hers—he kissed her harder.

"Stop," she said, unconvincingly.

"Really?" he said, kissing her again. He could feel her body react to him, almost unconsciously. Her mouth grew soft. Her breathing got heavy. She curled toward him, like a cat.

"You really want me to stop?"

"No," she admitted, finally kissing back for real, pressing her breasts up against his chest, her tongue now firmly in his mouth.

He adjusted his position so he could take her in his arms. Things were about to get really hot when she caught herself—and jerked away.

"House! We can't be doing this!" she said.

"I know," he breathed excitedly. "We're in public. Let's go back to my place."

"No, that's not what I meant. We can't be doing this, period. I'm engaged!"

"So get…unengaged!" he said,

"It doesn't work like that!" she said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's my life, not a game."

"Stop saying that! I don't think it's a game! I . . . love you!"

She stared at him.

"You don't get to say that tonight, House. That's not fair!"

"What do you think this has all been about?" he said. "I've been pining after you for two years, changed my entire life, got sober, because I kinda like you?"

Cuddy closed her eyes. Her head was spinning.

"You're too late!" she shouted. And she got up from the table and ran away.

"Fuck!" House said, so loudly that, even in a noisy bar, the other patrons gave him accusatory looks.

"Fuck," he groaned more softly this time. He put his head in his hands. He sat there like that for several minutes.

"You didn't text me, but I figured the coast was clear!" Alvie said, looking around, spy-style, and sitting across from him. "I saw you kissing her, too, you dog. My man!" He held up his hand for a slap. House ignored it.

"Where'd she go?" Alvie said.

"Home, presumably."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's where her future husband is waiting for her."

"That is some bullshit, House! Some bullshit!"

Then, taking in House's appearance, he said: "You look shaken up, man. Can I get some water? Another scotch?"

When House didn't reply, Alvie grew indignant on his friend's behalf.

"You know what you need? Some new bitch to get your mind off the old one! That's what we need House. Some new bitches!"

House sighed.

"Alvie, can you just do me a favor and not talk for a few more minutes?"

"Not talk? No problem. No problem at all, House."

Then under his breath, he began to sing: "It's drivin me out of my mind! Can't get her out of my head! Miss her, kiss her, love her. . . That girl is poisooooon."

######

By the time Cuddy got home, Lucas was already in bed, watching The Tonight Show.

"You said 10," he groused.

"Sorry," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"And you smell like a distillery. I thought you said work."

"I, uh, went out for drinks with a few colleagues afterward," she said.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might want to come?" he said. (Maybe because he sensed Cuddy's reticence, Lucas had become super clingy over the course of their relationship. Cuddy thought that accepting his proposal would calm his insecurities. If anything, he'd become more possessive.)

"Sorry," she said. "I knew how much you wanted to watch your show."

"That's why they have these things called DVRs," he said.

"Sorry," she said. "Next time."

"The important thing is, you're here now," he said, reaching over to kiss her. He started to climb on her, but she turned away.

"Can I take a raincheck?" she said. "I'm exhausted."

"Sure," he said, mopily. Then, under his breath, he muttered: "Great fucking date night."

He turned off the lamp on his nightstand. The room went dark.

Cuddy closed her eyes, but she found that she couldn't sleep.

She kept playing over the events of the day in her head: Finding out about House's crusade to get back her book. The fizzy, flirty happiness she had felt tonight in his presence. Alvie—naïve, goofy, "intuitive" Alvie—seeing right through her. House's kiss, the way his mouth and his body felt against hers—a tiny shimmering sensation passed over her body just thinking of it. "It's no game," he had said. "I love you."

She looked over at Lucas, who was sleeping with his back to her, still possibly sulking from her earlier rejection, and she said, into the darkness:

"I can't do this."

He didn't stir.

Now she turned on the light.

He woke up. "What's up babe?"

"I. . .I'm sorry but I can't do this."

He sat up, already knowing, already dreading her answer: "Can't do what?"

"I can't marry you Lucas. It's not right. I love someone else."

"You weren't out with colleagues tonight. You were with him."

Her mouth felt dry. She swallowed a bit.

"Lucas, I'm sorry."

He folded his arms across his chest, looking like he was about to cry.

"I know it hurts now," she said. "But in the long run, I'm saving us both a lot of pain. We never even made a public announcement. Barely anyone knows . . ."

He gave her a lethal stare.

"I'm so glad you've been spared the humiliation of anyone knowing we were engaged!" he spat out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that. . .you won't have to explain things to anyone. It'll be easier."

"Screw you," he said.

She went to take his hand.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

He got up out of bed.

"I'm out of here," he said.

"No," she said. "It's the middle of the night. You stay. I'll go."

"Where are you going to go?" he asked. And then it occurred to him. "Of course. To him."

She touched his shoulder but he jerked away.

"Just go to him already. It's what you've wanted to do this whole time anyway."

#######

But standing in front of House's door, she suddenly felt nervous. It was like she was about to cross some imaginary threshold. Before, there had been this safe, predictable life she had chosen with Lucas. But now: Knocking on House's door, telling him how she really felt, there was no turning back. It was like taking a leap into the life she wanted but feared, because she wanted it too much.

Steeling herself, she inhaled deeply and finally mustered up the nerve to knock.

It took him a few minutes to come to the door. He had bedhead. He was blinking at the light and his face was slightly creased from the bed.

"Cuddy?" he said, somewhat dazed. He ushered her in. "What are you doing here?"

"Lucas . . ." she said, slumping her shoulders a bit.

"What about him?" His posture grew tense. "Did he hurt you? I'll fucking kill him!"

"No, nothing like that. We broke up."

His eyes widened.

"You what?"

"We had a big fight. And I. . .ended it."

Disbelieving, he said: "But. . .why?"

"Because I told him I loved another man."

"Alvie made quite an impression, huh?" he cracked. (He would deflect with jokes until he was absolutely sure, because if Cuddy wasn't saying what he thought she was saying, he might never fully recover from the disappointment.)

"Yeah, I guess Alvie did make a big impression," she said. "Because he was right."

"Cuddy, what are you saying. . ."

"You know what I'm saying."

Then, with a tiny smile, she chanted:

"I'm ain't so blind that I can't see.

That I love House and House loves me."

"Oh, thank God!" he said, and he enveloped her in his arms.

THE END