On Monday afternoon, Alice came home early and crawled into bed for a nap. The Friday before, after the almost-fight with House, she'd tried her hardest to talk Mad-Eye out of doing the malpractice story, and in the face of his blunt refusal had then tried to plead for it to be given back to Sue. Mad-Eye let her beg for a while – probably because he was a sick bastard who enjoyed that sort of thing – but he wasn't having any of it. He'd bluntly told her to turn in the story or turn in her resignation.

Thankfully she'd been spared spending the weekend with House, either trying to explain what had happened or avoiding the subject. He'd called her Friday to say he had a critically ill patient and either he was sleeping at his place or he wasn't sleeping at all, because she hadn't seen him or heard from him apart from a text message on Sunday to say he was still at the hospital.

Her entire Monday at work had been a struggle and in the mid-afternoon when her research had turned up a case involving House, Alice had given up on the story, given in to the hormones that were adding to her stress, making her feel tired and nauseous, and gone home to bed.

A couple of hours after putting herself to bed Alice was woken by the sound of the front door slamming shut.

"Alice?"

She blinked and stretched and checked the clock, it was after six. "In the bedroom."

House appeared in the doorway shortly after. He looked wrecked: haggard, tired and old.

"How is everything?" she asked.

"Yeah, worked it out in the end. Turned out to be syringomyelia."

"I don't even know what that is."

"No, and count yourself lucky. What are you doing in bed?"

"I have my period and I feel like shit," Alice said bluntly, which was the truth, just not all of it. A small, malicious part of her took pleasure in seeing the immediate dimming of the spark in his eyes that had flared briefly when he'd asked why she was in bed.

"Oh. Well, I'm hungry." He turned and walked out and Alice heard the clatter of crockery and food preparation out in the kitchen a moment later.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking." Alice half-heartedly threw a cushion across the room. She understood rationally that it was probably a bit much to ask for sympathy. He'd just spent the past few days saving someone who was probably dying, so he probably wasn't go to be too concerned over a headache and a few cramps. Logically, she also knew that that wasn't really why she was annoyed, and that she was angry with herself, not him. It was just easier to project her frustration outwards.

Alice was still lying in bed wondering whether she was just in far too foul a mood to be bothered with getting up when he came back into the bedroom with a plate heaped with leftover salad and pasta. He put the plate down on the nightstand before quickly stripping down to boxers and t-shirt and climbing into bed.

"Oh, I forgot." He reached over the side of the bed and from the back pocket of his discarded jeans he pulled out a family-sized bar of chocolate Alice knew had been in her cupboard. He threw it on the bed between them – as if he was tossing a fish to a hungry and unpredictable hippopotamus, Alice thought. That task completed, he leaned back against the pillows, picked up the plate and began eating ravenously.

Alice crossed her arms, still irritated. She wasn't sure if even chocolate would work to diffuse the black dog that had settled over her. She waited, to be cajoled, comforted or sympathised with, but it didn't come. He just ate, methodically working his way through the huge amount of food on his plate. Alice had to wonder if he'd eaten anything for the past three days.

Finally, with a heartfelt sigh that he also ignored, Alice reached for the chocolate and opened the wrapper, greedily shoving three squares into her mouth.

House finished his meal and dumped the empty plate on the floor. He yawned.

"I'm so tired," he complained. "I need to sleep for about a week. C'm'ere." He snuggled down into bed and pulled on Alice's arm until he could curl around her body.

"Ew, you stink," Alice complained, pulling away. He really did smell, and not just of male sweat and musk, but of unwashed hair and clothes that had been lived in for too long.

"Well excuse me for being too busy to clean up while I was working to save someone's life."

"Go and shower," Alice demanded. "Or you're not sleeping in my bed."

"What? Oh for fuck's sake Alice, I'm exhausted. Just close your nose or something. I'll shower in the morning."

"No! That's it, if you're not showering, I'm not sleeping here." Alice jumped out of bed. Yelling at him felt so satisfying; Alice wanted to find a way to do it some more.

"Fine," he said, settling down into the bed and closing his eyes.

"Oh!" Alice sighed in exasperation.

She waited, hands on hips, but he didn't budge. In the end, seeing as she'd made such a fuss, she felt she had no choice but to go and sleep in another bedroom.

And she didn't sleep well at all.

--

The next morning, Alice was standing at the photocopier copying some of the medical documents the wrongly-diagnosed cancer guy had given to Sue when someone's mobile phone rang. It was obnoxiously loud, an old disco song, You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate.

"Is someone going to answer that?" Alice demanded. It was really getting under her skin. Not that it was taking much to annoy her that morning. On top of her poor night's sleep, Mad-Eye had called her into his office again, read her the riot act for dragging her heels on the story, and given her until Friday to submit it. Alice still had no idea how she was going to get the "inside" info from House that Mad-Eye expected, and, of course, she still hadn't told House that she hadn't got out of doing it in the first place.

The annoying phone rang out without being answered and immediately rang again.

I believe in miracles

Since you came along

You sexy thing

"For God's sake answer it!" she snapped.

"It's your phone, Alice!" Phillip, the staff reporter who sat nearby called back, making his irritation clear.

"No, it can't be . . . " Alice muttered, feeling her face heat up as she flushed red with embarrassment. She ran over to her desk and, sure enough, it was her phone. She looked at the screen: Greg. A couple of people looked up and gave her looks of annoyance and amusement. She answered the phone just to stop the noise.

"Good morning hormonal Harriet, is it safe to speak?" He sounded ridiculously cheerful.

"Did you change my ring tone?" Alice demanded.

"I might have given my number a ring tone that would help you to remember who was calling."

Despite herself, Alice couldn't help but smile. "You sexy thing?"

"Precisely."

Alice walked away from her desk, over to an empty lounge area where the call was less likely to be over heard. She'd wanted to apologise to him, but that morning, when she'd left for work, he'd still been so deeply asleep she'd let him be.

"I'm sorry I was grumpy last night."

"I'm sorry I was stinky." He sounded sincere, but lowered his voice and Alice wondered if he didn't want anyone to overhear him admit that.

"No, you were fine. You had a reason. I was out of line."

"Apparently PMS can now be used in court as a murder defence."

"Well, I don't plan on taking it that far."

"Good. And maybe I'll take a long weekend on the coast somewhere next month."

"I promise to provide you with suitable warning next time."

"Deal. Do you think a change of scene might help? Would you like to come visit me tonight?"

"At your place?"

"Yeah. There's an Italian restaurant just down the road, we could go there for dinner and then spend the night at my place. I promise to spend a long time in the bathroom taking a dump so you can rifle through the drawers and invade my privacy."

She chuckled. "Why are you so happy?"

"I'm not 'happy'. I'm never 'happy'. But if I was ever to get close to that state of being, then having just solved a tough case, having had a fantastic night's sleep, and looking forward to a date with a sexy woman would have to come close."

Alice was sure he could see her grin through the phone. "Sounds great."

He gave her the address and then hung up without saying goodbye, a habit of his Alice still hadn't quite got used to. She walked back to her desk and the pile of papers immediately wiped the smile from her face.

Before she had a chance to think further about the fact that she still hadn't told him about the story her phone rang again. Thankfully it was her usual ringtone, he must have changed the settings so the song only applied to calls from him.

"Alice McKenzie?" a shaky voice asked.

"Yes, speaking."

"Alice this is Simon Ferguson. Sue Murdoch asked me to call you."

"Oh, yes, Simon." Shit, the cancer-guy. Alice needed to speak to him, to organise an interview, and soon. "Can we meet? I need to speak you about the story, I mean, about your experiences."

He coughed, sounding as if he was almost at death's door, then took a shallow, phlegmy breath that Alice could hear in disgusting detail through the phone. "Sorry Alice, but I'm not doing well this week. I just don't think I'm up to it. Could we do it next week instead?"

Alice felt a wave of relief. She couldn't finish the story without Simon's interview, and him not being healthy enough was a great excuse that Mad-Eye would have to accept. She knew that this was doing nothing except prolonging the issue, but with more time up her sleeve, she felt as if she could perhaps find a way to explain things to House, or to find a way to do the story that would satisfy both her boss and her boyfriend. Yeah, and Scylla and Charybdis was a nice sunny vacation spot too.

"I'm sorry to hear that Simon. Sure, let's reschedule for next week."

"Thanks Alice, I appreciate it." His voice was barely a whisper. "In the meantime, you might like to look into the doctor that caused all this. My lawyers think he's going to offer me a settlement because he's trying to avoid any publicity about his mistake."

"Are you accepting it?"

"You think money can make up for what I've been through?"

Yes, Alice thought cynically. If he was like most people, it just depended on how much. "I'm sure this hasn't been easy for you," Alice said consolingly instead. He was still a source and right now Alice needed him on side.

He gave a dark laugh. "That's the understatement of the century. This doctor should be stripped of his licence before he can do this to anyone else. He seems all kind and professional, but he's a bumbling idiot."

"And what's his name?" Alice grabbed a pen and paper.

"Doctor James Wilson."

"Right." Alice jotted down the name. "Well, thanks Simon. Take care. I'll be in touch next week."

"Look forward to it. Bye."

"Bye."

Alice hung up the call slowly. Something about the whole conversation rubbed her the wrong way. It's my spidey senses tingling. Alice knew the only way to let that part of her brain do its work was to let the thoughts boil away without trying to think about them too hard. She sat at her desk and picked up a Rubik's cube. Alice had no idea how to solve the stupid thing, but for some reason the rhythmic turning of it helped her think. She sat back in her chair, puzzling it all over.

--

House watched Alice's expression as she looked around his living room. For a moment he saw it through her eyes and, instead of the haven that had been his private space for a number of years now, he saw something different. Evidence of intelligence sure: lots of books, jazz posters, the piano. But seen through a stranger's eye it was kind of cold, impersonal. House wasn't going to admit it to anyone, but he'd had a decorator come in when he'd first moved in. Buying furniture and all that was something that didn't interest him. It had been easier to outsource, get someone else to take care of it all. He'd been reading Rolling Stone and there had been an article about Keith Richards, accompanied by a photo of him in his study. House had liked it, thrown the magazine at the decorator and said "make it look something like this". He'd liked the final result, but apart from adding more books, more musical instruments, and the occasional bit of whimsy he'd really not added anything personal to the decorator's original touches.

"I like your place better," he admitted.

Alice gave him a curious look. "Why?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you tend to be more naked there."

Alice smiled and House couldn't stop himself from grabbing her and pulling her into a kiss. Given the events of last night and his patient, it had been several days since he'd kissed her, and he couldn't believe how much he missed it. Or how quickly he'd gotten used to having someone around to kiss regularly.

The fell back onto the sofa and House just followed his instincts, letting a hand crawl inside her sweater, cupping her lace-covered breast in one hand.

"Hey, lover boy," Alice said, pulling back from his touch. "Dinner first. You need to pace yourself."

House took a deep breath, not wanting to let Alice see how much just a kiss and quick grope had affected him.

"You're right." He pulled back, but knew he couldn't stand just yet. Luckily Alice's eye was caught and she got up. She walked over to the piano and ran a hand over it.

"I didn't know you played. I get the idea that music's important to you."

"Yeah. Your place would be perfect if it had a piano." House hadn't told her but over the weekend, when he'd been dealing with the then-mysterious patient, the only time he'd spent away from the hospital he'd come here, to play. He'd thought about going to Alice's, wondering if a quick roll in the hay might cause inspiration to strike, but he'd decided he needed to be alone.

"You know that room off the kitchen at my place?" Alice asked.

"Yeah?" He'd gone in there briefly to grab towels when they'd had a spa one evening. It was currently a storeroom, with some boxes and cupboards filled with towels and sheets.

"Stuart always wanted to turn that into a music studio. It's been soundproofed, but that's as far as he got. The guitar lasted about six months." She sighed. "God I hate Stairway to Heaven."

House chuckled. "That room would make a good studio."

"I'd love a piano in the house. I learned it as a kid, but I haven't touched one for years. Will you play for me?"

"Maybe later. Are you hungry?"

"Sure."

"I hope you don't mind, but I invited a friend of mine to join us for dinner."

"A friend? The friend?"

"Yep."

"Cool." She smiled and House felt that warmth that she seemed to provoke in him. "Let's go."

They got to the restaurant a little early, but that was okay by House. He was kind of regretting inviting Wilson now, wanting more time alone with Alice. They ordered a bottle of wine and were just discussing the menu when Wilson arrived.

"Hi," he said, a little out of breath. "Sorry I'm late; I got caught with a patient. It's lovely to see you again Alice, especially in a different setting."

House recalled that Wilson had removed Alice's stitches in the clinic as he gave her one of those patented James-Wilson-charming smiles that he did, the kind of smile that had ended up in him being married three times. House watched Alice's reaction carefully.

"It's lovely to meet you properly," she said, but she didn't give him anything other than a friendly, but slightly nervous, smile in return. Perhaps Wilson's charm didn't work on every woman. House was surprised to find himself relieved about that.

"Wilson, this is Alice McKenzie. Alice this is James Wilson." House did the introductions. He saw Alice's face pale a little, her eyes going wide. She covered it well, shaking hands with Wilson and taking her seat, but House's practiced eyes noticed she seemed upset or disturbed.

Wilson busied himself taking off his coat and giving it to the waiter. House took advantage of the distraction to lean over to her. "Are you okay?"

She gave him a brief smile – yep, she was definitely uncomfortable about something. He just didn't know what. "I'm fine. I think I just probably need to eat."

House nodded, but wasn't convinced. He left it there, but made a mental note to check in with her later to make sure there wasn't anything more seriously wrong.

The meal was pleasant; Alice didn't seem too perturbed when he and Wilson occasionally got carried away with hospital talk. He guessed it was her journalism background, but Alice seemed good at asking questions, good at keeping conversation going.

He and Wilson were talking about one of Wilson's patients – a not unattractive woman Wilson had brought up a few times in the past few days and House was wondering what else might be going on. He hoped that his friend had learnt his lesson about going there. Alice interrupted their discussion about her treatment.

"James, a colleague of mine has just found out she has lung cancer," Alice said. House frowned at her, she hadn't said anything to him, but then he guessed he hadn't really been around for a few days.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Wilson was appropriately sympathetic.

"She's just had her first round of chemo. How sick will she get and how long will it last?"

"Well, it's hard to say, it depends on how serious the cancer is, whether it's spread, and what sort of treatment she's having."

"But if, say, she only needed one lot of chemo, would she still be sick after two months or would the effects have subsided by then?"

"Why do you need to know?" House's instincts were piqued. It was a very specific question.

Alice gave him a quick smile and turned back to Wilson. "Oh, it's nothing important really. Before she got sick we'd talked about going on a vacation together. When I saw her yesterday she was telling me that she thought she'd be fine to go in a couple of months."

Wilson shrugged. "It's really hard to know – some people have hardly any side effects, some people really suffer. But if she's reasonably fit and if she only has one lot of chemo, I'd guess she'd be well enough after two months."

The thought of Alice going on vacation with someone else made House feel all kinds of weird emotions that – if he didn't know better – he would have described as jealousy.

"Hey," House interrupted. He reached a hand under the table and squeezed her thigh. "I thought we were going to Egypt?"

Alice looked flustered and House felt pleased that he'd managed to unsettle her with just a touch of his hand.

"Egypt?" Wilson asked.

"It's a long story," Alice said. "Are you guys having dessert? I saw they had mud cake."

"Haven't you eaten enough chocolate?" House asked. He'd seen the wrapper in the trash that morning – overnight she'd eaten the entire bar of chocolate he'd brought into the bedroom.

"There's no such thing as enough chocolate," Wilson interrupted diplomatically and House didn't miss the grateful glance Alice shot his way.

House raised an arm to attract the waitress's attention. "Mud cake all round."

--

"My bed's not as nice as yours. Are you sure you don't want to go over to your place?" House closed the door behind Alice. After dessert, they'd said their goodbyes to Wilson and headed home.

"Greg, both our cars are here, we've both had just enough wine to make us possibly over the limit, and I'm tired. Besides, I'd like to sleep here. I haven't had a chance to rifle through your private papers yet."

She gave him a cheeky grin and House immediately gave in. He poured them both a whisky and sunk into his favourite position on the sofa, flicking on the television. He realised that the couch had become a bit lumpy over the years, adapting to his ass and the position he always sat in when watching TV.

"Hey, shift over."

House made room for Alice, but just enough for her to sit down, then sprawled himself out again, his legs in her lap. "Your sofas are better too."

Alice just shook her head and sipped her whisky.

"So tell me the James Wilson story," she asked.

"What story?

"How do you know each other?"

House waved an arm. He wasn't really interested in sharing all that – not that he minded Alice knowing, he just couldn't be bothered talking. Even though he'd slept well the night before, he was still tired from his intense weekend and was disappointed that Alice was indisposed, as they used to say in the old days.

They sat for a while watching something stupid on television. House was distracted by Alice rubbing his legs, her hands moving up inside his jeans to trace the muscles of his calves. It wasn't an entirely pleasurable sensation because her fingers often pulled on the hairs on his legs, but it was undeniably arousing too. He let out a groan.

Alice reached over for the remote and turned off the TV. "I don't want to have sex, but do you think we could, you know . . . fool around?"

House gave her a questioning look as if he wasn't quite sure what it was she was asking. She didn't say anything further, but stretched out and unbuckled his belt. She reached inside his boxers and freed his cock. He wasn't hard yet, but he knew it wasn't going to take long. Watching as Alice bent to him, her mouth taking him in, was incredibly arousing. But it brought back memories of the only other time he'd had sex on his sofa – and that was with someone he'd paid for the privilege. He didn't want that associated with her. He put a hand to her jaw, pulling her away. "No, I don't want to do it here. Let's go in the bedroom."

In the bedroom, they stripped to underwear and House pulled back the covers. He'd changed the sheets and he wasn't entirely sure why he felt so uncomfortable about Alice being in his bed. She didn't give him much time to think about it though, pushing him down, crawling over him and taking up where she'd left off in the living room. Despite her being in his bed for the first time, it felt like they'd known each other for much longer than a couple of weeks. If only because her mouth and hands had learned him so well.

--

The next day House was in Cuddy's office. She was trying to get him to treat one of the hospital's biggest donors who had mysterious chest pains. House was sure it was just ordinary everyday angina, but he didn't have any other patients, so he knew he'd end up doing this task for her. But he wanted to make Cuddy sweat a bit for it and besides, arguing with her was so much fun.

Just as he was making a final, very effective point, his mobile phone rang. Even Cuddy froze as the music rang out.

I search myself

I want you to find me

I forget myself

I want you to remind me

House began to smile because he recognised the song and could tell the chorus was about to ring out.

I don't want anybody else

When I think about you

I touch myself

House looked at the screen: Alice. He laughed.

Cuddy looked faintly disgusted.

--

You Sexy Thing, Hot Chocolate, Brown, 1975

I Touch Myself, The Divinyls, Amphlett, Kelly, Steinberg, McEntee, 1991