A/N: Hmmm, lots of readers, few reviews. Do you not like? I do need your love, it feeds my writer's soul!

--

Alice made it through to Friday evening without too much grief from Mad-Eye about the malpractice story. He'd taken Simon's ill health as a reasonable excuse, but Alice knew the reprieve wasn't going to last forever.

She'd spent time investigating James Wilson, including speaking to some of his former patients. None of them had a bad word to say about him, which pretty much reinforced the perception of him she'd gained over dinner. The dinner. Alice shook her head just thinking about it. She'd felt like running out of the restaurant screaming when House had made the introductions. Not only that, Alice had been chastising herself ever since that she hadn't made the connection between the name "James Wilson" and the Doctor Wilson who'd treated her when she'd returned to the clinic. Although, she sheepishly had to admit, she'd pretty much forgotten everything once she'd seen House again and started flirting with him.

James Wilson had been lovely, both at dinner and in the clinic. She knew that removing a few stitches was a long way from diagnosing cancer, but if his treatment of her was anything to go by, he was kind, professional, gentle and sweet. It just didn't fit with the incompetent, careless doctor that Simon Ferguson had described.

She also spent time investigating the wrongly-diagnosed patient. So far she hadn't been able to find out much about him. That could mean something, or nothing – lots of ordinary, everyday people didn't necessarily pop up in the kinds of searches Alice was able to do.

But it was Friday night and Alice was trying to put the working week behind her. She was in the kitchen, cooking a roast chicken, drinking a martini and feeling every bit the fifties housewife. The last call from House earlier in the day had been to tell her he had a new patient, and that he'd probably be home for dinner – although she knew well enough now to know that his "probably" was a very rough estimate. She'd reasoned that even if he didn't make it home in time, she could plate up a meal for him to re-heat. He always seemed to come home from marathon diagnostic sessions ravenous.

Oh, yes, Alice was fifteen kinds of domestic these days. And what was more surprising was that she didn't seem to mind.

Alice had the music playing so loud she almost missed her phone. She grabbed it just in time, slightly disappointed that she'd missed the silly ringtone song. He hadn't called much in the past few days.

"What are you doing?" a gruff voice asked.

He never said goodbye and he often didn't say hello, either. Alice was trying to get used to it.

"Cooking."

Although she figured he was most likely calling to say he wouldn't be home for dinner, Alice felt pretty cheery as she danced across the kitchen to grab a saucepan from the cupboard. She had the weekend ahead and she'd drunk most of a martini, which always helped.

"Cooking?" He sounded surprised and Alice had to revise the little mental Suzy Homemaker image of herself she'd been daydreaming about. She realised that this was the first time she'd cooked something from scratch for him. Opened packets, reheated stuff, boiled pasta, sure, but actual cooking? Not so much.

"And drinking." That was more like her.

"Cooking what?"

"Roast chicken. In case you make it home."

"Drinking what?"

"My patented Bombay Sapphire martini."

He made a noise that Alice could only describe as a jealous groan.

"I'm the perfect little housewife, didn't you know?"

He dropped his voice. "What are you wearing?"

Alice had just taken the chicken out of the oven, so she had an oven mitt on one hand, tongs in the other, and was wearing jeans and a dirty black t-shirt. Her hair was in a ponytail because she hadn't been bothered to wash it that morning.

"Black lingerie and a pink frilly apron," she answered seductively.

"Oh God."

"And lace-top stockings with strappy stilettos."

"Christ. You're torturing me."

"Oh no!" Alice gave a fake, silly squeal. "I just accidentally spilled chocolate sauce all over my breasts. Whatever shall I do?"

Over the phone Alice could hear the bang of a door in the background and some female's voice began reciting a string of indecipherable medical terms.

"Hang on," he said into the phone angrily, but Alice knew the anger wasn't directed at her.

She giggled as she listened to House utter furious instructions to the person who had interrupted. She quickly basted the chicken and popped it back into the oven, taking a quick swig of her martini along the way.

"Alice, are you there?"

"Yes, I just had to take my bra off. Oh! I'm a little chilly now and my nipples—"

"Shut up," he growled. "I just sent my idiot underlings off to run tests that are going to take at least an hour. I think I've got time to make it over there, eat dinner, ravish you and get back here before they're finished. I'm assuming you're back in action, hormonally speaking?"

"I'm all yours, baby."

"You bet you are." His voice was thick with desire and Alice heard the rattle of keys just before he ended the call.

"Oh." All of Alice's light teasing was suddenly lost in a wave of pure lust. She felt a throb of anticipation in her groin and could feel that her body was already making itself ready for him. She looked down at herself in her dirty jeans and wondered if he really would be expecting black lingerie. She figured he'd know she'd been teasing, but she probably had just enough time for a quick shower and to slip into new underwear and a dress. She turned off the heat on the stove top, made one last check on the chicken and then ran to the bathroom.

Alice was showered, dressed and back in the kitchen checking on the food when she heard the roar of a motorbike, followed by the front door opening and slamming shut again.

"Hi honey!" She kept up her cute, housewifely tone. "Would you like a drink?"

He was already unbuttoning his shirt as he walked into the kitchen and Alice frowned. Being keen was one thing, but he was eyeing her like she was the roast dinner.

He reached for her, pulling her into a kiss that made his intentions perfectly clear. Despite herself, Alice couldn't help her body from curving into his embrace, her mouth from opening under his.

"I hate that you've done this to me." He dragged his lips from hers and began kissing and nibbling her neck, his hands roaming over her torso.

"Done what?" she asked, already breathless.

He didn't answer and Alice immediately forgave him for making her feel like a piece of meat. "Oh, I . . . ahhh." Whatever she was going to say was lost as he sucked hard on her collarbone and a strong hand grabbed her ass, pulling her against him so she was left in no doubt as to the state of his arousal. She wondered absently how he'd managed to ride a motorbike in that condition.

"Wait!" Alice pulled back. "Let me take the chicken out of the oven so it doesn't burn." She quickly attended to the food, switched off the heat, and turned back to him. "Can we take this into a room with fewer hard surfaces?"

"Yeah, whatever." He hobbled out of the kitchen, momentarily prevented from undressing further because of having one hand on his cane. Alice followed him into the bedroom, reaching out to pinch his ass as they got near the bed.

"Ouch! Watch it wench, or I'll have you over my knee."

"Promises, promises," Alice leered. She'd never really understood the spanking thing, but figured if there was anyone she'd trust to give it a try, it would be him.

"Oh really?" He gave her a suggestive wink. "I'll remember that."

He worked on getting himself undressed again and gestured that she should do the same. They fell onto the bed, kissing passionately, and Alice could feel his hardness pressing into her thigh. His hands kneaded her breasts roughly, and he was thrusting against her skin, seeming desperate for contact.

Suddenly he stopped. "Alice?"

"Yes? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just, I . . . do you think I'm a good lover?"

"What?" Alice was astonished by the change of pace. "Of course. You're amazing, one of the best. You're so generous, so attentive." She wondered what he was expecting her to say.

He shrugged off the praise. "Okay. So, would it be okay if right now I wasn't? Because I just want to fuck you hard. We did it almost every day for three weeks and we haven't done it for over a week – not counting that blow job. I feel like my balls are going to explode."

Alice had never before felt the strange mix of lust and laughter that consumed her at his confession. She held back her laughter and allowed the lust to prevail.

"Say that again, only whisper it in my ear," Alice said quietly.

"Which bit?"

"I want to fuck you hard," she whispered.

"Oh God." He groaned, lowered his head and sucked on her earlobe for a moment before whispering, his breath hot and loud in her ear, "I want to fuck you hard."

Alice moaned in response. "I want that too. I wanted you from the minute I heard your voice on the phone. How do you want me?"

"Flip over."

Alice turned on to her stomach and at his encouragement raised herself on her hands and knees. True to his word, he wasted no time, positioning himself and pushing inside her forcefully.

"You're so wet already."

"I told you I wanted you."

"So hot . . . and tight . . . and wet." His words were punctuated by thrusts and he was moving so violently that Alice couldn't help herself from grunting each time he rammed home inside her. She lowered herself to her elbows and put her forehead down on her arms to brace herself, her ass riding high, pushing back to meet his thrusts. It felt amazing, but this time without either of them touching her clit, Alice knew she wouldn't come. Still, she wasn't complaining.

"God, Alice, I . . . " he groaned.

Alice understood that her name wasn't particularly sexy but she loved that he said it, that he let her know she was the one who was doing this to him.

He sped up and she could hear how wet she was, feel his balls connecting with her labia when he buried himself deep inside her. His panting was more frantic and his groans were becoming more uncontrolled when suddenly he moaned, loud and long, and Alice could feel his hot discharge flooding into her. His cock twitched inside her, a tickly, intimate feeling like no other.

Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, as if he'd somehow ejaculated his life force along with his semen, he pulled out and fell on the bed next to her. He held his breath just long enough for Alice to be concerned, before letting out a heartfelt sigh. She collapsed next to him.

Then, unexpectedly, he began to chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Alice asked.

"This beats the hell out of watching a colonoscopy."

"What?"

"Never mind." He took a deep breath and turned on his side. "You enjoy your foreplay?" he asked with a sexily raised eyebrow.

"That was my foreplay?"

"Yeah." His hand wandered down her body, delving between her legs. "Ready for the main course?"

"Yes please." Alice caught a breath as she spoke, his fingers brushing over her now exquisitely sensitive clit.

"The foreplay worked. You're all swollen."

"Uh-huh." Alice was beyond speaking and only moments from what felt like was going to be one of the best orgasms she'd ever had, if only because it was so fast and unexpected.

He dipped a finger inside her, stroking her inside before returning his attention to her clit. "Yep, you definitely got five days' worth."

Alice gave him a weak slap on the arm. "Shut up with the gross commentary and concentrate on what you're doing."

"Yes ma'am."

She spread her legs a little further and closed her eyes, concentrating on the pleasure his touch provoked. He leant in and nuzzled her neck before kissing down to her breast. He took the perky tip into his mouth and suckled deeply just as he increased the pressure of his hand.

"Oh Greg, I'm so glad you . . . came home . . . from work. Ah!"

Alice felt as if her whole body convulsed as the orgasm crashed through her, the peak going on and on. She was wholly suffused with pleasure until her left foot seized in an agonising cramp.

"Ow, ow, ow! Stop!"

"What?" House pulled his hand away immediately and Alice curled up, clutching her foot.

"My foot cramped." Alice rubbed her foot and tried to stretch out the spasmed muscle.

House gave a dry laugh. "Heh, heh, I've never made anyone's foot orgasm before."

"Sorry," Alice apologised once the pain had subsided. "That was toe-curlingly good, obviously."

"Mmm. Come here."

Alice obeyed, snuggling into his arms.

"I hate the whole post-sex cuddling thing," House said.

"Really?" Alice raised an eyebrow. She'd noticed that unlike other guys she'd slept with, he was particularly fond of holding her after they made love. They always pulled apart before going to sleep, each needing their own space in the bed to sleep properly, but he always made a point of touching her immediately afterward, as if reassuring himself that she was real.

"Yes. And if you tell anyone different I may have to kill you."

"Ri-i-ght."

Alice remembered that he was only home for as long as it took his team to conduct their tests and wished that instead they had the whole evening, the whole weekend, to get lost in each other. Both of them forgetting their work for a while.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to eat before you head back in?"

He sighed and Alice wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, I guess. Not sure when I'll get another break, and your food beats chips from the vending machine."

"How long have we been in here? Do you think the chicken will be okay? It's probably sitting on the counter right at the perfect temperature to grow a crop of salmonella. I hope we don't get food poisoning."

House looked at her intently, but Alice could tell he wasn't really seeing her. She could practically hear the grind of the wheels as they turned in his mind. Suddenly he grabbed her cheeks in both hands and gave her a loud, smacking kiss.

"That's it! I love you!" He jumped out of bed and began pulling on his jeans, muttering under his breath. "We just haven't seen the rash yet."

"What rash?"

"Typhoid. My patient has typhoid. Salmonella typhi. I have to go to the hospital and run a test, but I'll be back. The chicken will be fine. Save me some. Then we'll spend the whole weekend doing this again, only better." He finished dressing and then bent down to kiss her briefly again.

Alice was left reeling as he dashed out of the room, moving incredibly quickly for someone who didn't have full use of both legs. Alice shook her head and lay back in the bed, stretching out and feeling the slight, achy but oh-so-enjoyable soreness he'd created.

Then she froze.

Had he just said 'I love you'?

--

House returned home, feeling so triumphant he half-expected a chorus to proclaim his entrance as he walked in the door. The patient did have typhoid, thanks to a sneaky trip to Egypt with his twenty-three-year-old mistress who wanted to see the pyramids. He'd insisted that he hadn't left the state, let alone the country, but then his wife had been by his bedside the whole time. The wife was still in blissful ignorance; his team had made up some lie in the face of the patient's pleading. Lucky bastard. Lucky that House had been horny and that he had a woman who'd cooked him dinner that night.

It was ironic: Egypt.They'd been only half-serious when they'd talked about it, but maybe he really should take Alice there. Avoiding the typhoid, of course.

He filed that away to think about later and walked in to find Alice curled up on the couch watching a soppy movie. He didn't interrupt; instead headed to the kitchen, reheated the food she'd made him, then returned to the living room and stretched out on the sofa, not touching her but within arm's reach.

The movie was Love Actually. House had seen it before and hadn't particularly enjoyed it, but he was too happy with life to object. He settled in and noted it was up to the scene where Emma Thompson receives a Christmas gift from her husband that lets her know he's having an affair. Alice sniffed loudly and House could tell she was crying.

"You're crying? Over a movie?"

"Shut up," Alice answered defensively, wiping her eyes.

"You cry a lot."

"Yes, I do. I cry a lot, I get angry a lot, and for a while there I was hitting people a lot. Be thankful I seem to have grown out of that."

House nodded and finished his meal. He noticed that Alice had a habit of sighing each time Colin Firth was on screen.

"You like that guy?"

"Hmm."

Carefully non-committal, was House's interpretation. But it made him realise he didn't know who her favourite movie stars were, what her all-time favourite movie was, who her first boyfriend had been. Lots of important information that made Alice the woman she was, was still unknown to him. He decided to begin rectifying that.

"Who was your first crush?"

"What?"

"It's a question. As a journalist I would think you would be familiar with them. Who was your first crush?"

"What celebrity? Or real life?"

"Both."

He could see Alice was torn between watching the movie and talking to him. She must have decided in his favour, because after a moment she shifted to face him. "Okay. Well, I was totally in love with the lead singer of Duran Duran as a teen."

"No." House was appalled.

"Yes. But before that, if I think back to the real first, I guess it was Han Solo."

"Better."

"I also had a crush on Princess Diana. Not sexual, obviously, but just how glamorous she was. I had a scrap book of pictures of her that I cut out of magazines. And I was obsessed by Ritchie Rich comics for a couple of years, I just felt so sorry for the poor little rich boy – I guess you'd call that a crush. Oh, and David Cassidy. But everyone loved David Cassidy."

House shook his head. If he'd though the questions would make Alice easier to understand, he was rapidly realising he'd been wrong.

"First real person crush?"

"Ah." Alice paused and a funny look crossed her face. House would have classified it as melancholy.

"Don't tell me some third-grader stole your heart."

"No. This sounds weird and wrong at first, but let me finish before you jump in with paedophile jokes."

She sounded so serious House decided to bite his tongue and nodded to let her know she should continue.

"It was my uncle, Uncle Ian. He was much younger than my dad and I didn't see him very often. When I was eight, he was in his early twenties and he was a journalist, an overseas correspondent. He seemed so intelligent, so heroic. My father used to tell me that Uncle Ian would go to foreign counties and report on bad people so they would have to stop hurting good people. I had this twisted idea of Ian as kind of like Clark Kent if Clark Kent had admitted he was actually Superman."

"That why you became a journalist?"

"Yeah, I guess so. When he was away I would write Uncle Ian letters telling him what was going on in our neighbourhood, like I was a reporter. 'And in other news, Mrs Williams from number forty-three has bought a new cat.'"

She laughed, a little sadly, and House couldn't help reaching over and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She blushed when he did it and looked away.

"I bet he loved reading them."

"I guess so. I hope so."

"And where is he now? Are you competing for Pulitzer Prizes?"

"No, he died. He was shot in South Africa in 1982. We never found out exactly what happened or why he was killed."

Alice was staring off into the distance and House was half-regretting starting the conversation. But still, it helped him to understand some of the reason she was so passionate about her job. He could tell that in some little way she also saw herself as a righter of wrongs, a superhero with words as her weapon.

"What about you?"

"What?" He'd lost track of the conversation while trying to work out the puzzle that was Alice McKenzie.

"First crush."

"Ah. I think it was Raquel Welsh. At least, I remember that I was watching her on TV the first time I ever felt . . . you know, something stir in response."

Alice gave him a grossed-out look.

"Hey, don't act all coy. You didn't seem to mind my stirring earlier. You should be grateful to Raquel."

"I guess. If you put it that way. What about real world?"

"Real crush? It would have been Miyu. My dad was stationed in Japan for about a year and her family lived next door to us. She would have been, I don't know, about sixteen? I was seven or eight and I followed her around. She was always really kind to me; she treated me like I was a pet."

"A pet?" Alice said disbelievingly.

"No, I just mean, like a doll or something. She used to brush my hair and . . . " House fell quiet. He suddenly realised that he'd shared more than enough. Besides the purpose of the conversation had been to find out more about Alice, not to talk about himself.

"So why did you decide to go into medicine?" Alice asked, breaking the silence. "And why infectious diseases? I mean, yuck."

No way was House going there tonight. Not when he had a gorgeous woman at his disposal, a contentedly full belly, and enough of a high from his accurate diagnosis that he was fairly sure he'd be up for another round of bedroom athletics any moment now.

"So I could learn all about anatomy and cause women fall into my arms in ecstasy. Oh and earn pots of cash."

"Yeah, yeah." Alice rolled her eyes.

"What, you don't think that's true? I haven't proven myself yet?"

"You're very . . . competent." Alice said. He could see she was teasing.

"You said I was one of the best earlier."

"Did I?"

He suddenly had a thought. Another jigsaw piece of Alice he wanted to know. "One of the best of how many?"

"What? Do you seriously want to know that?"

"Yeah. Insatiable curiosity. It's one of the things you'll grow to love about me."

Alice frowned; he could see she was considering whether or not to tell him the truth. "Recently, not that many. I was faithful to my ex-husband – not that the asshole deserved that or returned the favour. Since him there's only been two including you."

"How long were you with Stuart?"

"Ten years, six of them married."

"And before Stuart?"

"Let's just say that I wasn't one of the good girls."

"Really? Like pole dancing and heroin and orgies?"

Alice laughed. "Not quite. But I got around. Enough to know what I'm doing and to know that if I died tomorrow I've had enough sex in my life."

"How can you possibly have enough sex?"

"No, I mean, I want more. But just, I'm happy with my past."

"You want more? Like now?" House grabbed Alice's arm and pulled, trying to get her to come over to his side of the sofa. He was too comfortable to move himself and for once his leg wasn't hurting too much.

Alice smiled. "Sure. But not before you answer me. Just because you ask, you don't get out of answering the question."

"What, how many?"

"Yes."

House wrinkled his nose, wondering what to say. His family had only stopped moving around when he was in his final two years of high school, so he could concentrate on his studies. But that was far too late to break into any of the cliques that the kids had already cemented in the years before he arrived. At college, he was nerdy, determined and – even then – known for being opinionated and prickly. A girl he was tutoring must have taken pity on him and, with a great sense of relief, he'd lost his virginity in his final year of pre-med. After that there'd been a date every now and then, and other med students and junior doctors who needed a release and had the same ridiculous schedule. But Stacy had been the one who'd really taught him everything he knew. He doubted Alice would want to hear that she owed his ex-girlfriend a debt of thanks.

"I was a nerdy kid and a conscientious med student. Didn't leave much room for fun. But I wasn't exactly a good boy either. Then there was Stacy and after that, well, my leg doesn't exactly invite female attention."

"That's pretty vague."

"You didn't give me a specific number, so I reserve the right not to either."

Alice curled her feet up under her and then crawled over the sofa cushions until she was almost in his lap, her breasts pressed against his chest. She kissed his cheek, his jaw and then his neck.

"You remember when we did it in the dining room?" she asked him, pulling aside the neck of his shirt so she could nibble along his collarbone.

"Yes." Oh boy did he. Alice had been spread out over the table like a feast, and like the Mad Hatter at a tea party, he'd made sure to take his share. He might not have had crumbs and butter in his pocket-watch, but together they'd made tea-time last, if not forever, then for a very long time.

"Yeah, well then, you did this thing, with your mouth."

"Uh-huh." He thought he knew what she meant, but her hand had dropped to his pants and he was finding it a little hard to concentrate.

"Can you do it again?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

--

House disappeared back to his place late on Sunday morning, promising to return for dinner, and Alice was happy to have the place to herself for a few hours. She headed into her office to do some writing – some non-work writing. For a few years now Alice had been writing a little fiction. She considered it the writing equivalent of doodling, but she harboured secret desires of one day writing the great American novel.

A few hours had passed without her noticing – as they often did when she was writing – when she heard the sound of rattling and drawers opening in her bedroom. Curious, she got up from her desk, and the sight that hit her when she walked into the bedroom made her gasp.

House was standing in front of her dresser, bent over, several pairs of her panties clutched in one hand. Most of the dresser drawers were open and underwear was spilling out everywhere. He looked up, saw her in the doorway and froze. The look on his face was so incredibly guilty that Alice couldn't help the thoughts that crossed her mind.

She'd known him a month. It wasn't very long. But it was probably long enough if he was about to confess a thing for wearing women's underwear. Or no, perhaps he was one of those even creepier guys who liked to smell underwear. Or God! What if he'd been working on her so that he could kidnap her, lock her in a basement and do unspeakable things to her while dressing a mannequin in her underwear and compelling her to apply body lotion?

Alice told herself to calm down and made a mental note to stop watching Criminal Minds.

Finally he broke the stillness, dropping the panties in his hand into the open drawer and reaching down to a duffle bag Alice belatedly noticed at his feet.

"It's not like you need all these drawers," he said accusingly, as if he was scolding her: How dare you store your clothes in your own home!

He scooped up some boxer shorts, t-shirts and socks from the duffle bag and haphazardly threw them into the drawers he'd emptied.

"Uh . . . " Alice began, then stopped. With no idea of what to say, she simply turned on her heel and walked back to her office, leaving him to it.

Later that night, Alice cringed as she heard the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven played on an electric guitar coming from the studio. Bastard had done that on purpose.

House had moved in, and that was that.