"Alice, sit down."

Alice had been summoned to Mad-Eye's office as soon as she'd got in the next morning and she couldn't help wondering if she was going to be called to account for her wayward behaviour the previous evening. But fellow features writer Sue Murdoch was sitting in the office too, looking pissed, and although Alice didn't think the meeting was going to be hugs and puppies, it probably wasn't about dinner.

"Sue's been doing a story and I want you to work with her on it."

Alice nodded, carefully avoiding eye contact with Sue. They both understood that although he'd said "work with her", Mad-Eye was effectively taking Sue off the story and giving it to Alice. Alice would be pissed off if he'd done it to her too, but there was little either of them could do about it.

"Sue, give your notes and research over to Alice. And set up a meeting for her with that cancer guy." Mad-Eye turned his attention to Alice. "That new fella of yours. The doctor. He works at Princeton Plainsboro, right?"

Beside her, Sue drew in a quick breath.

"Yes." Alice nodded hesitantly, not sure what House was going to have to do with all this.

"Good. You'll be able to work some contacts through him. I want to find out if we can get to the bottom of this. It smells like a winner to me."

"Okay." Alice was still confused, but figured things would be become clearer once she spoke to Sue.

And indeed they did. Sue had spent the past several weeks investigating medical malpractice at various hospitals in New Jersey. One of the most compelling cases she'd come across was a guy who'd been treated at PPTH – the guy Sue had been interviewing when Mad-Eye had asked for Alice's opinion of his trustworthiness. He'd been told he had lung cancer, but the diagnosis was wrong and the mistake had only been uncovered after he'd started chemotherapy. Sue had been pulling together a "medical disasters" dossier, with that case as the highlight, and Mad-Eye was right, it was a great story.

"I can't believe you get this story because you're fucking a doctor," Sue said, handing over her file.

"Sorry." Alice shrugged. She knew that Sue would forgive her again in a few days. That's what had happened last time Mad-Eye pulled one of these tricks. "But I don't think this is going to be much fun for me. Doctors stick together, right?"

Sue nodded. "Yep. It's been like blood from a stone to get info from some of the hospitals."

"So I don't know why Mad-Eye thinks I'll have some special access pass just 'cause my boyfriend is one of them." Alice realised that was the first time she'd called House her boyfriend and she felt a little tingle go through her.

"Well, you might be able to get some insights. Mind you, you could have introduced us and I could probably have spoken to him myself, but anyway . . . "

"I'm sorry Sue. It sucks that Mad-Eye did this to you. But remember that story about the corruption in the mayor's office?"

Sue sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. You did all the legwork on that one, I got the byline."

"Swings and roundabouts."

"You're right, but I'm still going to be pissed for a while." She gave Alice a grim smile.

"I get that. Besides, I really don't think this is going to be fun for me." Alice felt conflicting emotions warring inside her. She was excited, as she normally would be, about an interesting and compelling story that she could investigate and write. But she also felt apprehensive, for reasons she couldn't quite pin down.

--

House was having lunch with Wilson and he was in a good mood. He'd even paid for Wilson's lunch and it had felt like the whole cafeteria had stopped in a moment of reverence for such a hallowed event.

"You obviously got laid last night," Wilson said, still slightly pale with the shock.

"I was at a dinner party last night that's featured in the paper today, in the Princeton People column." House had checked the paper at the hospital's bookstore, and he'd been disappointed that neither he nor Alice were in any of the photos that had been published. Just because it diluted the crowing he could do to Wilson.

"Yeah, but I bet you still got laid."

"I got laid in the bathroom at the dinner party."

Wilson made a disgusted face. "House, you need training. It doesn't seem like Alice is the woman to do it, if she lets you do things like that."

"Alice is excellent training," House objected.

"I went to your place the other night and you weren't home. Have you moved in with her?"

House wasn't sure if he'd say that, exactly. He really enjoyed spending time at Alice's house, it was comfortable, the fridge was always stocked thanks to some delivery service she had in place, and it was big enough that even when they were both home they didn't have to be in each other's space all the time. It was, he had to admit, kind of perfect, although he was beginning to miss his instruments, particularly his piano.

"Nah. I've just been spending a bit of time there."

"Right." Wilson didn't push, but House could hear the disbelief in his voice. He could understand why Wilson would think he'd moved in. Things had gone fast with Stacy – she'd moved in with him after a week. It was just like with a medical decision: when House was sure about something, he was sure. Not that he was about to propose or anything, but life with Alice was pleasurable, and when it came to pleasure, House wasn't really into self-denial.

"I told you House, girls are nice. I'm glad you're having fun."

House prickled at Wilson's self-congratulatory tone, as if it was all Wilson's doing that House was happy. It was House's natural reaction to want to deflate that.

"Well, it probably won't last, so I figure I'd better get in as much sex as I can."

"Why won't it last?"

"Duh? This is me we're talking about, Wilson."

Wilson shook his head. "House, you are perfectly capable of having a functional relationship with another human being. You just chose to ignore that because of some twisted little idea that not doing that makes you special. Well, here's a heads up: it doesn't make you special, it makes you lonely."

Wilson's lecture didn't seem to make a dint in House's countenance, the words and tone too familiar to be effective. "Wilson, Alice is great, but I'm being realistic." House shrugged and decided it was time to change the subject. "What about you? You've done the grieving thing. Surely the paint's dry on that subject?"

Wilson sighed, but this time House could tell it wasn't about House's typical insensitivity about the whole "Amber" subject. With a small sense of surprise, House realised that his friend actually had been starting to think about re-entering the romantic realm. About time, House thought.

"I'm starting to realise that my chances of finding someone are getting slim," Wilson said with a tone of resignation. "It's statistics. At my age all the good women are already married. The only women left on the market are either bitter and twisted about their divorces or desperate to have a baby five minutes after the first date."

House thought about Wilson's comments. Alice was pretty bitter about her divorce, he thought, but she really didn't talk about it too much and it didn't seem to be having too much of an effect on the way things between them were working. And as for birth control – she'd said she was on the pill and, well, he'd really just taken her word for it. After the conversation he'd overheard at the dinner party and his discussion with Alice in the cab on the way home, he suddenly felt a little nervous about that.

Wilson looked totally crestfallen about the whole romantic scenario and House wasn't sure whether he could be bothered to try to cheer him up with words of what House would knew would be false encouragement. House had been single for a very long time and, for the moment, Alice was anomaly in what House had decided would pretty much be a solitary life. He was resigned to life on his own; but he wondered how long Wilson could actually last without female companionship.

"So how's your lawsuit going?" he asked, changing the subject.

"It sucks. There's something about this guy – I never liked him."

"Hmmm, a patient of yours that you didn't want to sleep with? Will wonders never cease?"

"House," Wilson said with his familiar warning tone. He sighed. "According to the hospital lawyer he's really pushing the case. He wants huge damages and is even considering suing the hospital for vicarious liability. He wants as much money as he can get."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

The two doctors sat in silence for a while, eating their lunch, lost in separate trains of thought.

Wilson finished his salad and broke into House's musings.

"House, I have to get back, I've got a patient arriving in ten minutes."

"Okay."

"Look, I hope you can just enjoy things with Alice. Don't get too caught up in what it all means or analyse it to death the way you do. Just have fun and see where it takes you."

"Yeah."

"And thanks for lunch." Wilson gave House a wry smile. "She might be dragging you off for sex in bathrooms, but perhaps she might just be having a good influence on you."

Wilson walked off before House could come back with a witty retort. House watched his friend as the cafeteria doors closed behind him and wondered if he could actually follow Wilson's advice. Could he turn off his brain enough to just take things with Alice one step at a time instead of trying to put together the individual pieces to create a pattern or a theory that would tell him what was going to happen next?

When he got home later that day – realising to himself that he thought the word 'home' about Alice's house – he went into the bathroom and opened the top drawer. He was relieved to find a pack of Levlen, lying next to her moisturiser. She'd forgotten a pill earlier in the month, the Thursday bubble still had its little yellow disk inside, and she was due for her period next week. But otherwise it was up to date and she'd definitely taken her pill that morning. He felt a little guilty about checking behind her back, but it was better to be sure. He figured she'd never know anyway.

--

When Alice got home that night House was already there and had ordered an extravagant amount of Chinese takeout. Alice gratefully accepted the food and they spread out in the living room, eating from the coffee table and with the TV on. She'd spent all afternoon catching up on Sue's research and beginning some of her own and she was exhausted.

Once they'd finished their meal they sat back, watching some stupid sitcom that had an annoying laugh track about every thirty seconds. Alice reached for the remote and turned down the volume a little.

"Have you ever been sued for malpractice?"

He smirked.

"Now you're assuming I know you better than I do." She frowned at him. "Either that smile means you've never been sued and you're insulted that I've asked, or you get sued all the time and you're smirking because it's a dumb question."

His facial expression didn't change.

She thought about what he'd told her about his practice, his patients and his relationships with various colleagues. She sighed. "It's a dumb question, isn't it?"

"You catch on quick." He reached for a leftover egg roll and began munching. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, since he met you at the dinner party, my boss has now discovered I have an 'in' in the medical world. He wants me to do a story on medical malpractice cases in New Jersey. He thinks you'll be able to help me with research and contacts."

House frowned. "And are you going to do it?"

Alice gave him a look of disbelief. "He's my boss. It's not like I have a choice."

"But what if you have to report on me? I've been sued about every six months for the past five years, on average. I'm one of the most frequently-sued doctors in the state. I got a trophy from my attorney and everything."

"Really?" Alice was shocked. His name hadn't come up in her research that afternoon at all. Princeton Plainsboro obviously had very good lawyers. "Well, I'm not going to report on you. But I have to do the story." Alice hoped she could keep that promise.

"Why? Why not just get someone else to do it?"

"Greg I can't just pick and chose what stories I do! Do you get to choose your patients?"

"Pretty much."

She was surprised. "You do not. I don't believe you."

He shrugged. "I don't care if you believe me."

"You're telling me that you can pick and choose the sick people you like and don't like?"

"I'm saying I generally get to choose which cases I spend time on."

"Generally?" she echoed sarcastically. She could tell he was getting annoyed with her.

"I've never treated a patient I didn't want to treat – not including the clinic and that doesn't count."

"You're mincing words." Alice could tell they were sliding down a slippery slope towards a fight, but for some reason she couldn't seem to stop herself. "Right, so let me get this straight. If a sick person needs diagnosing, but you're not interested or don't like the look of them, you just let them die?"

He gave her a withering look. "And I actually thought you were intelligent."

"What?" That stung, and his ice cold tone gave her a shiver. He got up and Alice thought for a moment he was going to walk out, but he just paced back and forth. She'd seen him do that when his leg was sore; he obviously did it when he was irritated too.

He gave her a dismissive look. "I thought you were an intelligent woman and I've been proven wrong. I guess I should have expected it. You don't find many women who can fuck like whores and who actually have an ounce of sense."

Alice gaped at him. His comment was so outlandish she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I can't believe you said that."

He blew out an annoyed breath and turned to face her, speaking as if he was explaining the obvious to a silly child. "Alice I'm a doctor. You're writing an investigative piece about medical mistakes. You admitted you want to use me for research. I can't see how you think I'll be happy about that."

Alice's first instinct was to fight, and she felt the full force of her red-head's temper building up steam inside her. But she held back. Normally she would never shy away from a heated discussion, but she decided right then and there: no more fighting for fighting's sake. No more punching people because she was so angry it couldn't be contained. The pieces fell together in her mind. Some of the cruel, vicious things she and Stuart had said to each other in the final months of their marriage still hurt deeply. She never wanted to be hurt like that – or to hurt someone else like that – again.

Besides, as much as she might not like to admit it, he was right.

She swallowed hard, trying to restrain the automatic adrenaline response that had flooded her system at his attack.

"You're right," she said quietly.

He gave her a puzzled look, he obviously hadn't expected the abrupt change in pace. "Yes. I am. But why are you admitting it?"

"I . . . don't want to fight. I don't mind discussing or debating or even arguing, but I don't want to fight. Ever. After my ex-husband . . . " She trailed off, figuring she'd given him enough information to put two and two together. "I'll tell Mad-Eye tomorrow that I can't do the story."

He gave her a curt nod. "Okay."

Alice turned the sound up on the television again as he sat down and they watched the sitcom a while longer. As the credits were rolling, Alice leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Do I really fuck like a whore?"

She could see he was worried for a moment, concerned that despite her "no fighting" rule she was bringing up his insult. But then he clearly saw the sparkle in her eye.

"No, you don't." He pulled her half into his lap and kissed her thoroughly. "You're much better."

--

After the sitcom finished, House found a documentary about some recently discovered Etruscan tomb. He seemed enthralled, so Alice left him to it, heading down the hallway to the room she called her office.

When they'd bought the house, Alice had decorated this room for Stuart but he'd never spent much time there. He had told her later – in very precise and spiteful detail – that he'd never liked it. At first Alice had been upset by Stuart's rejection of the room, but then she decided that it didn't matter that it had been meant to be a man's room, she loved it, and she adopted it as her own. She closed the door behind her and was wrapped in the silence afforded by the thick carpets on the floor.

Alice had taken her inspiration from old English manor homes, and had created a gentleman's study that would not be out of place in the Cotswolds. The walls were lined with glass-doored oak bookcases filled with books that were mostly Alice's. About a third of the cases were now empty because Stuart had taken his books with him, but Alice was kind of looking forward to filling them with new purchases. The floor was topped with a plush red Turkish rug, and a huge oak desk dominated the room. Leather brown, royal red and warm timber colours dominated. A couple of over-stuffed but very comfortable armchairs and some large floor pillows were the only other furniture in the room. The windows had heavy drapes, so if the day was sunny Alice could pull them right back and lie on the floor with a pillow in the sunshine, and if the weather was bad, she could pull them tight and turn on the desk lamp to make the room atmospheric and cosy.

Tonight the rain against the windows called for cosy. For no apparent reason she pulled out her favourite copy of Alice in Wonderland – one of about a dozen beautifully illustrated versions she'd been given over the years – and curled up in a chair.

She'd read up to the part where the suddenly shrunken Alice was swimming in a pool of her own tears, crying because she couldn't get into the beautiful garden or get back home either, when she heard the door open a crack.

"I wondered where you'd got to," House asked. He stood in the doorway, perhaps sensing that the room was Alice's private retreat and that permission was needed to enter.

"Come in," Alice offered.

He walked in and, before sitting himself down in the other armchair, reached over and wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of one finger. "This is a great room," he said, swivelling his head around to take it in.

Alice hadn't even realised she'd been crying. She wondered if she'd just been lost in Lewis Carroll's world so entirely that she'd been crying for poor, lost Alice – or if she was poor, lost Alice.

"Yeah, I . . . " Alice had been about to tell him all about the Stuart-factor, but decided against revisiting it. "I love it. It's my favourite."

"It would be my favourite if you moved the Xbox and the TV in here."

"I think that would pretty much ruin it," Alice said with a little laugh.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"I haven't even seen your place."

House shrugged. "Actually, it looks a bit like this. Lots of books and dark colours. Except not as clean."

"I'd like to see your place. And maybe meet some of your friends."

"Okay. But I only have one friend," he said emphasising the singular, "so that won't take long. Why is Alice making you cry?"

"Sympathy, I think. I'm feeling a bit like I fell down a rabbit hole and now I'm lost," Alice answered, surprised by the words even as she said them. Alice liked to think she was emotionally intelligent, but that was primarily when it came to reading other people. When it came to understanding herself, sometimes she had absolutely no idea what was going on inside her own head. Occasionally, someone would ask, and the answer would tumble out of her mouth and she'd think, ah, yes, that's it.

"You're worried about Dinah," House said perceptively.

"Yeah, I think so." He was right. Like storybook Alice who was worried about the cat she'd left at home, grownup Alice was worried about the pre-House life she seemed to have left behind. It had taken a long time to learn to stand on her own two feet after Stuart, and now, after just a few weeks together, she knew she was in deep with House. She was perhaps only just realising how much he meant to her, even so soon, and the thought was terrifying. Especially given that she had no idea how he felt.

"Am I the white rabbit?" he asked.

As if you need to ask that question, Alice thought. "Well, you have led me astray, but I think you're probably more suited to being the Mad Hatter."

"I do like his quotes the best," House said with a smile. "But I hate tea."

"Him or the Cheshire Cat."

"Not the caterpillar? 'Who are you?'" He put on what Alice guessed was an approximation of a caterpillar's voice. "Do you have a hookah here? It looks like the kind of room that should have a hookah."

Alice decided to ignore the caterpillar's question, especially because she wasn't sure if she could answer it. "You're right. We should go to Egypt and buy a hookah."

"Okay."

She frowned at him. He looked perfectly serious. "You really want to go to Egypt?"

"Sure." He got up and kissed her forehead, then made his way to the door, pausing with his hand on the doorhandle. "Alice, don't forget, I fell down the rabbit hole too."

He closed the door and Alice smiled.