A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed or just read and enjoyed (that's okay too).

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore and Fox.

Thanks to the wonderful NaiveEve for the beta.

-2-

Cuddy lifted the receiver and stared at it as if its slim black form held the secret of life. She sighed, twisting her lips, not at all thrilled to be making this call. The day was aggravating enough without having this new wrinkle to worry about.

Give me a break, somebody...puhleeze.

If she could have one wish it would be to stuff this entire day inside a wooden crate and throw it off the observation deck of the Empire State Building. If the gods liked her enough, they might guide that crate on its journey as it hurtled down, down, down at top speed, sending it crashing through the roof of the board chairman's Lexus. Yes, crushing that car roof would be nice. It would be even nicer if Mr. Board Chairman Siliman were cozy and unsuspecting inside its leather interior. Crash! Crrrrush! Well, oops! Such is life. The thought was invigorating. But it didn't make her feel any better about this anxiety riddled day, which was far from being over.

The board meeting had dissolved into a festival of sniping and backbiting. A loud, somewhat vile disagreement (rife with heaping helpings of the 'f' word) between the Siliman and Margot Tristan, the treasurer, ended the soiree on a sour note. They would resume next Monday afternoon, same time, same conference room. Cuddy could hardly wait.

Kill me now.

Malpractice hearing was in an hour. Would the fun never end?

With a sigh, she checked the phone number on the file before her, although she had already committed it to memory. The phone was still in her hand, beep, beep, beeping at her, reminding her to get her ass in gear. She glared at it now like it was a sworn enemy, then prodded herself into action, jabbing the seven digits into the keypad. The phone burred in her ear...once...twice...

"Hello?"

"Hi," said Cuddy, toning down the professional administrator in her voice, summoning up the amiable, approachable employer. "Is this Myrna?"

There was a moment of dead air, quickly replaced by the sound of a soft, tentative, "Ye-ah."

"Hi, Myrna. This is Lisa Cuddy from Princeton-Plainsboro."

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy."

"Strange how she didn't even sound surprised", Cuddy thought. "It was almost as if she knew..."

"I just wanted to...um...congratulate you on your news."

There was another moment of silence, broken by what might have been a soft amused snort.

She was laughing?

"Why, that's very nice of you," Myrna said. "Thank you very much."

"I-I mean, we...a couple of us were wondering." Cuddy scraped a finger down the receiver's smooth surface. She exhaled slowly, silently. "We wanted to take you out. Sort of a pre-wedding bash."

"Oh...really?"

"I know you must have a lot to do." Cuddy straightened some papers that were already stacked in a neat pile before her. "So if you'd rather not-"

"I would love to, Dr. Cuddy."

"Oh, well...that's good." Cuddy glanced at Myrna's file again. "I see you've requested vacation time beginning this Thursday through a week from Sunday."

"Yes."

"So would Wednesday night be good for you? About seven?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Cuddy wondered about that little smirk in the woman's tone. "You...don't sound too surprised to hear from me. Did someone already call you about this?"

"No. But Greg mentioned you might be in touch." Myrna freed the chuckle that seemed to have been lurking in the back of her throat.

"Ah."

"He's kind of magical like that."

Magical! The poor woman was totally smitten.

"I...see." Cuddy winced. "Alright, so Wednesday at seven. We'll pick you up at your place."

"Oh, I can drive," Myrna said. "Just let me know where to meet you."

We're going to get you so incredibly shit faced drunk...

"Let us do the driving. This is going to be your night."

There was a pause. Cuddy heard a slight intake of breath, then, "Alright, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. It's our pleasure."

"I'm...looking forward to it." Myrna's voice shook slightly. "Thanks."

"Dress casual but nice."

"Uh, okay."

"See you then." Setting the receiver softly in its cradle, Cuddy fixed her eyes on the woman who had been sitting across from her during the call. "She's looking forward to going."

Cameron nodded slowly. She had been leaning forward for the duration of the conversation, eyes wide with interest. Now she folded her arms and sank back into her chair with a sigh. "Great," she said without a trace of a smile.

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Myrna had scheduled enough time for everything on her to do list, as well as tucking away six hours for something called sleep. But like most of her recent well calculated plans, these had just been tossed in the dumpster. Someone wanted to buy her bed and her sofa. The call interrupted her in the bank, just as she was signing the last of the traveler's checks. Martin Slawson was the prospective bed buyer's name. Could he come at five? He would have cash in hand, a flatbed truck at the ready. If he liked what he saw, he would take the furniture away immediatamentally (his stupid word, not hers).

The Bargain News hit the stands today and it looked as though its success stats might have just risen a notch. Which was great. She was happy, of course. Only thing was now she would be lucky to get in a couple of hours of shuteye before work. If the bed sold, she was going to be forced to stay at Greg's, which made the idea of sleeping without...some interesting distractions a fantasy of gynormous proportions.

After purchasing the traveler's checks, Myrna brought her red and cream colored dress to the dry cleaner (this would be Wednesday night's dress, she decided after a few moments of deliberation and picking through the clothes not already packed away) and ordered up a chicken salad wrap at the drive-thru at Duchess.

Upon her return, she parked across the street from her building rather than in the garage.

And, oh my god, look at this...

The sight of the slim, handsome, somewhat lost looking man pacing circles in front of her building put Myrna that much more in awe of Greg's speculative powers.

Magic...

She locked her vehicle, quickly eradicating her knowing smile by forcing herself to remember that her mother and Georgie would be arriving on Thursday, the movers would be coming early that same day, and she was set to meet Greg's parents for the first time on Friday.

Her lease wasn't up for two months but the management company was allowing her to break it-as long as they could keep her seven hundred dollar security deposit. Greg had wanted to fight them, proclaiming the apartment was spotless and she shouldn't have to put up with that sort of treatment. It wasn't worth arguing about, she had told him, setting a plate of nachos before him on the coffee table and smoothing a hand through his hair. The snack and her gentle ministrations instantly diverted his thoughts away from the management company's proposition. He was like a twelve year old that way, so easy to distract with food and affection.

"Dr. Wilson?" she asked as she cautiously approached.

He stopped his pacing and spun on this heel to face her. "Hello, Myrna."

"Is...everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I rang your buzzer...downstairs." He said, giving an uncomfortable hitch of his shoulder, like he was trying to throw off some small animal clawing at his back. "You weren't there. I figured I'd wait around and...well, here you are."

"Ah, yeah, errands to run. I had to get some traveler's checks."

"Oh." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and pulled at his collar. His brow was slick with perspiration even though this May afternoon was not overly warm. "Traveler's checks."

"I went to the dry cleaners too. Dr. Cuddy set up some kind of party for me on Wednesday, so I figured," She threw her arms up and shrugged. "I'd better get the ol' standby dress looking decent."

"A party?"

"Oh, they're taking me somewhere." Tilting her head, she added, "I don't know..."

"They do that...uh, when someone's getting...uh." Wilson suddenly became interested in his shoes, moving one toe back and forth over a crack in the sidewalk."

"Dr. Wilson?"

"Please. Call me James." He raised his head quickly to meet her eyes. "Or Jimmy."

"Would you like a cold drink...James?"

"Oh, that sounds good."

"I'm afraid I don't have too much to offer you," she said, leading him into the building and opening the lobby security door with her key. "We're trying to use up everything in the fridge and Greg's already polished off the beer."

"Greg."

She smiled and shook her head as they reached the elevator bank. "Are you're having a hard time with this, James?"

"Me? Ah, I don't...I mean. Yes." He nodded fervently, more times than was necessary to confirm the affirmative.

The elevator arrived. When the doors opened, they stepped back to make room for an elderly man and a woman pushing a toddler in a stroller to exit the car.

The man, sporting a straw boater and a bow tie, stopped, doffed his hat and grinned, revealing a mouthful of bright new looking teeth. He took Myrna's hand in his slightly tremulous one. "I hear you're leaving us, my dear."

"Yes, Freddie. The time has come to move on."

"But," His bright blue eyes moved over Wilson like they were surveying a rare archeological find. "this is not your intended. This one has a kinder face and he shaves. Maybe you should reconsider, dear."

"No, Freddie." Myrna took his hand in hers. "I think I've found the one I want."

"Oh, oh dear, well..." He eyed Wilson again. "If it doesn't work out with you and..."

"Greg."

"...nothing wrong with having a little back up plan, eh?" Freddie nudged his chin at Wilson and winked.

Freddie tottered off as Myrna and Wilson entered the car, Myrna restraining her laughter until the doors slid shut, until they were safely on their way, which is when she...

...laughed...and laughed...and laughed.

She knew her laughter was infectious. It was her secret weapon. When she lived home she would use it to bring her mother out of a funk or get George to quit acting like an insolent brat. She defused a number of unpleasant domestic showdowns with humor and that laugh. Starting as a low chuckle, it rose, spiraling higher and higher to become a sparkling, musical trill. Now she sent it ricocheting up and back, bouncing off the four close walls of the elevator, causing Wilson to finally find his release and join in.

And when the car reached the third floor, they were still giggling like school kids, wiping their tears on their palms and their sleeves.

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Wilson seated himself on Myrna's sofa, shifting his butt between two cushions, not allowing himself to get too comfortable. He kept his feet flat against the hardwood floor, his hands clasped together, like at any moment he might genuflect and pray. The glow from the laughing jag Myrna had initiated lingered, warmed him, made him feel...good. Which was not good. He would prefer to be in a foul mood, ala House. The things he wanted to discuss would make much more of an impression if he were knee deep in the doldrums.

"Diet Coke or Poland Springs." Myrna emerged from the kitchen, brandishing the water bottle in one hand, soda in the other.

"Water's fine." He lifted one hand in thanks as she disappeared around the corner.

The living room was filled with light. Sunlight and lamplight seemed to have taken residence in all the spots curtains, knick knacks or any sort of personal touches might have once lived. The place seemed clean, dust free. It was a good thing Myrna was a decent housekeeper. House certainly was not. If the maid didn't come in twice a week, his place would be a sty.

Sealed cardboard boxes were lined up against the walls, their contents emblazoned in black marker across their front and sides: 'Books', 'Clothes', 'Housewares', 'Photos'. It reminded Wilson how much he detested moving and how many times, through college, three marriages, and in and out of House's place, he had been forced to haul his belongings here, there and everywhere.

He threw on a grin and got to his feet as Myrna returned.

She was attractive in a 'plain Jane' sort of way. But there was more to her looks than what was immediately apparent. She didn't seem the type to accentuate her 'selling points' (Wilson chuckled silently over the double entendre). But as she moved, the loose fabric molded itself around her curves and the swell of her breasts, hinting at a ve-rry nice body under there. Still, she was not the type of woman he would have guessed House would fall for. House liked them porn film slutty or New York chic, and usually brunette. Myrna was the antithesis of all that, possessing a certain homespun farm girl quality. Her hair was a brownish blond, pulled back into a ponytail, her skin smooth, a bit too pale, eyes were on the greenish side of hazel. Her mouth, her most appealing facial feature, was wide, full and soft. Pretty damn perfect as mouths went. If she wore any makeup it might have been foundation with a touch of lipstick.

"Ah, such a gentleman." She handed him his drink in a Styrofoam cup, flopped down on the sofa with a sigh, then twisted the cap off her Coke. "Please, James. Sit."

He sipped his water and seated himself next to her.

"I'll tell you, I am exhausted. Between packing, working, planning the wedding, reception, whatever, I'm about ready to fall down." She laughed, then took a swig of her soda.

Wilson pouted, looking deep into the watery depths of his cup. "Why don't you wait?"

"Wait?"

"I hope you don't mind me asking. Believe me I'm not trying to pry into your business."

"But you are."

"Yes."

After another swig, she set her drink on a coaster on the sofa's wooden arm. "It's okay. You're like his brother."

"Oh, I don't know."

"You are. I can tell." Folding her hands on her lap, she went on. "You don't allow him to intimidate you or walk all over you."

"Oh, the walking part, he's done that. I'm pretty sure I've got the sneaker treads on my back to prove it."

She giggled. "Yes, well..."

"So why don't you wait?" Wilson's voice was soft almost pleading. "What's the rush? You can live together."

"Greg doesn't want to. He wants to marry me." She enunciated the word mar-ry, like it was absolutely imperative to communicate the importance of it.

Wilson gazed at his shoes, noticing a new scuff mark on the right one, by the toe. "Maybe...see...maybe-"

"I know what you're going to say-that marriage is interesting to him since he's never done it before. Believe me, " She paused to sip her drink. "I know how he hates being bored."

"What if he gets bored with you?" he asked.

Running one finger along the rim of the bottle, she shrugged. "That's a chance I'll have to take."

He watched her set her drink down again. Slowly she turned her head to meet his eyes.

"This might sound crass, brash or whatever," Wilson considered each word before it left his mouth. "But I'm not all that worried about how you will fare if anything should go wrong."

She shrugged. "Why should you? You don't have an emotional investment in me."

"That's not what I meant-"

"You're worried about him. You don't want to see him hurt. You want to protect him, like any true friend would." Her smile was gentle, compassionate-a smile they probably taught in nursing school. "I understand that. I appreciate that."

"He went through a long relationship."

"I know about Stacy."

"He was deeply in love with her."

"He still is, I'm sure. It never completely leaves you."

Wilson shot her a surprised look. "And you're okay with that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," he said. "I guess you don't."

"She's got five years on me," Myrna said. "which includes that proxy decision she had to make about the infarction. I can't compete with the emotional upheavals of what they went through together. And I wouldn't want to. This is different." This time the corners of her mouth trembled when she smiled. "This is us."

Wilson swirled the water in his cup before drinking it down. "People aren't just born thinking the way you think. You've obviously been through some...stuff. Plus...I sense you're not a New Yorker or a Jersey-ite for that matter."

"Wow." She chuckled. "You know how to read people. That's good, that's interesting." Tapping a finger against the armrest, she said, "No wonder you're his friend."

"Mmm hmm. It has its challenges, believe me."

"I'm finding that out." She laughed. "I grew up in Minneapolis. My father was a doctor. Fifteen years ago, just after my brother Georgie was born, dad died of a stroke." She sank back into the cushion and picked at a piece of lint on her jeans. "It was a real blow to my mom. She never saw it coming."

Wilson said nothing, just gave a nearly imperceptible nod and kept his eyes fixed on her.

"Her coping mechanism was never the best and, when I was home, I ended up caring for Georgie while she slept or watched TV or read the tabloids." Myrna splayed her fingers over her knees. "I was going to school, trying to keep up my grades. But it was impossible to do everything and do it right. I managed to graduate high school and spent the next five years, working menial jobs, taking care of the two of them."

"Was your mom diagnosed with depression?" Wilson asked.

"She was never diagnosed with anything because she refused to see a doctor. Said it was a waste of time..." Her brow furrowed; she drew her hand up to her face and traced it lightly down her cheek, her gaze set on the cardboard cartons against the wall.

"I was sick of waiting tables and cleaning offices so I found a job as a receptionist in the local nursing home. And...it was a turning point, one of those 'fate takes a hand' things you read about but you don't think could ever really happen. Certainly not to you."

Wilson smiled knowingly.

"The head nurse, Toby Lascomb, noticed how I spent more time talking with the staff about the patients than doing my job." Myrna threw her head back and chuckled at the memory. "But she was so cool about it, encouraging me to do rounds with her and go to nursing school. My problem was I knew I couldn't do it while I was living home. Too many distractions. Georgie was a handful, really got under my mother's skin. Plus I was going through a relationship...with this older guy. It was really...kind of twisted, kinky...but fun. Addictive."

Wilson raised his brows. This he would never have suspected. He pictured her in leather. He pictured her with a whip. His cheeks burned and he had to remind himself to breathe.

She rubbed her brow then pinched the bridge of her nose. "I...have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"I-it's okay," he stammered.

"After a while, being with this guy... was getting to me like everything else." She lowered her tone. "I think I was enjoying it too much. The sex...was such an amazingly intense release. But it was stifling me. I knew I had to leave him, my mother and George if I was ever going to have any kind of life of my own."

Guilt cast its shadow, darkening her eyes to a muddy brownish green.

"Toby took me under her wing. She helped me find a good school in Jersey, and networked to get me the receptionist job at Princeton-Plainsboro."

"You lucked out."

Suddenly her eyes lit up, her face...glowed. "In a lot of ways."

"Are we're still talking about your career move here?"

"Oooh, I don't know."

Myrna's glow was contagious, causing the corners of Wilson's lips to lift of their own accord. "He's a handful, Myrna." Wilson heaved a sigh. "Selfish, prideful and pigheaded. He's also an addict..."

"I know." She hung her head. "I figure if I can't convince him to detox, the least I can do is...offer him some distractions."

"He's always been good at finding those."

"Yeah, but now he won't have to pay for them."

"Damn," Wilson breathed. "You are something else."

"Not really, " she said. "I just have my own agenda." She rose, leaned over and took the empty cup from him. "I don't need Greg to complete me. I learned long ago how to be my own best friend, so I'm not in this to change him or to mother him or...smother him. If he wants to spend the day in front of the TV or down at the betting parlor, that's his prerogative." She picked up her half full soda bottle. "The only thing I won't abide is cheating. If he wants to screw around, I'm gone."

Wilson narrowed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "Somehow I don't think he'll go there."

"I've also learned to never assume. Temptation is a nasty thing. It gets to all of us at one time or another."

Standing now, Wilson pushed his hands into his pockets and inclined his head. "You know, I came here to try to change your mind about going through with this."

"I figured that."

"But it could be that now...I've changed my mind."

"Really?" She brightened, smiling broadly like a kid who'd just been given a gold star.

"Really."

"Oh, that is good news. You're the only one out of all of them I cared about impressing." Myrna exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging with relief. "You pretty much just made my day."