Author's note: A short chapter. I hope people aren't upset with the highly comedic tone. I'm just so not in the mood for angst right now. But I promise some heavier stuff will come soon. (It's kind of inevitable, huh?)

The waitress told House about a decent motel about 30 miles down the road and he paid the bill and quickly met Cuddy and Wilson in the parking lot.

"So you're in?" he said to Cuddy, expectantly.

"For a few days," she said. "For Wilson."

"Cool," House said, trying to act nonchalant.

Cuddy pulled her keys out of her purse and approached her rental car.

"So where to next?" she said, spinning the key ring on her finger. "And please tell me it's a hotel. Preferably one with steaming hot water and clean towels. I'm exhausted."

She opened the door to her car. House eyed her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm getting into my car—what does it look like I'm doing?"

"What part of middle-aged rebel biker gang didn't you understand?"

"The part where I'm not riding on one of those contraptions," she said. "I have a car."

"I'm pretty sure the beat poets weren't drawn to the lure of the open road from the front seat of a—" he peered at her rental—"Hyundai Sonata."

"It was all they had at the rental place," she sniffed. "And besides, I'm not a poet. I'm a hospital administrator. And a mother."

"The preferred term is HAMILF," House said. "Hospital administrator and mother I'd like to—"

"C'mon Cuddy," Wilson said, cutting him off. "It'll be fun."

"What am I supposed to do with my car?" she said, wrinkling her nose. "Drive it off a ditch? Or into a living room?"

"Impressive!" House said, looking at his watch. "Eight minutes in and it's our first reference to my vehicular misconduct."

"I'm just getting warmed up," Cuddy said.

"Leave the car here," said Wilson, trying to regain the focus. "We'll pick it up on the way back."

"I can't leave it here for a week. It'll get towed!"

"Better still," said House.

She looked at him.

"It must be fun living in a world with no consequences," she said.

"It is," he said. "You should try it sometime."

She rolled her eyes a bit, but pulled her overnight bag out of the trunk, and dropped her keys back into her purse.

"Yes!" Wilson said.

House handed her the spare helmet and she walked over to Wilson's bike.

"Alright James" she said. "Be gentle with me."

"You're not riding with Wilson," House said. "He can barely walk without falling over."

Cuddy looked at Wilson, who gave a sheepish shrug.

"I am still getting the hang of it," he admitted.

"Great," Cuddy said.

She squinted at him. "And what's with the House hair, anyway?" she asked, gesturing to Wilson's manly new stubble.

(She remembered the time House wore a nerdy, Wilson-like vest in an attempt to get her to tell a white lie. Wilson's scruffy look was equally out of character.)

"It's a work in progress," Wilson said. "It's possible that I will grow it to ZZ Top length proportions."

"Ohmygod, I approve," said House.

"Or, it is possible that you'll shave tonight," Cuddy said.

"That too," he admitted.

She smiled and put on the helmet. House tightened the straps firmly around her chin, then slapped the top of her head, grinning triumphantly.

She climbed onto the back of his bike—it was a little tricky because of her skirt—and gingerly placed her hands around his waist.

"You're going to have to hold on a lot tighter than that, Cuddy," he said.

"Just drive," she said.

"You never had trouble holding on tight when you rode me in the past," he said.

"That's it!" she said, climbing off the bike. "I'm taking the sedan."

He grabbed her arm.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was inappropriate. I promise I'll behave."

"You better," she said.

"Scout's honor," he said.

"You were never a boy scout," Cuddy said.

"Ya got me."

"This is just like old times," Wilson said, merrily.

#######

At the hotel, Cuddy asked the clerk for two rooms.

He nodded, began typing into his computer.

"She means one room," House said.

The clerk stopped typing, looked up.

"No she doesn't," Cuddy said to the clerk. "Keep typing. She means two rooms."

Now the clerk kept his fingers poised on the keyboard, confused.

"You might be concussed, Cuddy," House said. "We'll need to monitor your sleep. It's far safer if we're all in one room."

"He does make a valid point, Cuddy," Wilson said.

"I can already see how this week is going," she said. "Fine. One room. Two double beds."

The clerk started typing, then stopped for a second, as thought expecting to be faked out again, and then finally typed up their reservation.

When they got up to the room, Cuddy threw her bag on the bed. House threw his duffel bag on the same bed.

"Hey, that's my bed," she said.

"Our bed," he said.

"Dream on, loverboy," she said.

"Yeah, it's probably for the best if I sleep with Cuddy," Wilson said, now throwing his bag on the bed. "I promise to be a complete gentleman, of course."

"Contrary to popular opinion, this is not the Make a Wish Foundation," she said, taking Wilson's bag and tossing it back at him.

"It was worth a shot," he said.

Then she took House's bag and threw it at him roughly. He caught it right on the solar plexus and gasped a bit.

"Funny story," he said, once he had collected himself. "Everyone thinks Wilson and me are totally gay for each other, but in fact, we both like sleeping with women."

"Then you can tell each other sexy bedtime stories about women," she said.

"That'll be somewhat awkward because all my sexy bedtime stories involve you," House said.

"What? Not your Russian rent-a-whore?" she said.

"You know about that, huh?" House said, looking chagrined.

"I know more than you think," Cuddy said.

"Thanks pal," House said, flicking Wilson on the back of the head.

"Hey, I didn't. . ." but he stopped mid-sentence, because they all knew that, in fact, he had.

"I'm taking a shower," said Cuddy. "Another thing I enjoy doing alone."

House started to say something crude, but thought better of it.

He and Wilson watched her go into the bathroom.

"What a woman," Wilson said, somewhat wistfully.

"Yeah," House said.

They were both staring at the closed bathroom door, as if they peered at it long enough, they might see a naked Cuddy.

"You okay with all this?" Wilson said.

"What? Seeing Cuddy? We're fine."

"Oh yeah. I don't detect any tension at all."

"There's no tension. We're both here for the same reason."

"Using my cancer as an excuse to work out your personal problems?"

"Something like that," House said, smiling.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged from the bathroom. Both House and Wilson were hoping she'd be wearing just a towel, but instead she was in annoyingly sensible pajamas—long flannel bottoms and a navy blue tank top. (Well, the tank top was sort of sexy, but House knew that her actual arsenal of smoking hot nightwear far surpassed it.)

She climbed into bed.

"Goodnight boys," she said.

"Goodnight Cuddy," they said together.

"Don't hog the covers," House said to Wilson. "Or fart."

####

At about 3 in the morning, House tiptoed over to her bed.

"Hey," he whispered.

She opened one eye.

"Hey," she said, half conscious.

"What day is today?" he asked.

"Wha. . ?"

"I'm checking your concussion. What day is today?"

"Friday," she said.

"And where are we?"

"The middle of fucking nowhere," she said.

"And is Gregory House dead or alive?"

"Depends on who you ask," she said.

"You're officially unconcussed," he said, smiling. "Now go back to sleep."

He gently put his hand over her eyes, closed them.

"G'night, House," she said sleepily.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest until her breathing became very still and she had fallen back asleep.

"Goodnight Cuddy," he said.

#####