A/N: This is a REVISED Ch. 3 from the previous version, where I inexplicably referred to the RSL character as "Dr. Lewis." All I can say is I forget my own name sometimes!

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Monday. She has replayed their meeting countless times in her mind during the weekend. His shadow in the door, the music, the brief touch of her skin against his.

She has waited all day for him to speak, to say something about the conference, the ballroom. Instead he has barely been able to look at her. Any questions or comments she has made throughout the course of the day have been met with blank stares or caustic replies.

On some level, she knows she could not have expected anything else. How could it have been clearer than when she asked him hopefully if he liked her and he had replied with chilling finality, "No."

It should have been the end of it, but those kind of things never mean the end. Not for Allison. It's not in her nature to be dissuaded so easily when it comes to matters of the heart.

So she watches Dr. House as he writes the last of the man's symptoms and turns around, bouncing the whiteboard marker restlessly in his hand.

"Well? What is it?"

"Tumor would be the obvious," says Chase.

"It would be. Except every MRI and CT scan says otherwise," Dr. Wilson responds evenly.

There is a silence. "Cryptococcus?" she says, a question more than a statement.

House cuts his eyes to her. There is a glint in his eye. "Cryptococcus?" he asks.

"...Yes..." she answers hesitantly. Her mouth has gone dry. "Headaches, dizziness, sleepiness, confusion. All symptoms of cryptococcus."

"Cryptococcus. Cryptococcus." He repeats it again with a widening smirk. "Let's see. Is the patient an infant?"

"No."

"Elderly?"

She swallows hard. "No, he's a 45 year old man."

"Does he have HIV or an otherwise compromised immune system?" His voice drips with sarcasm.

"No." She looks down and squirms uncomfortably. "But it's found in bird droppings. I thought if he works outside.."

"Does the patient work outside?" No!" he answers his own question. This is more than House's usual sarcasm, more than his usual callous treatment of her or Chase or Foreman. Her lip quivers. "The patient is an attorney who works inside 15 hours a day, and from the looks of him, he hasn't exercised outdoors since the late eighties. So, what would possibly make you think it's cryptococcus?"

"I was just..." she looks at Foreman and Chase for support. They look away uncomfortably. "I was just batting around ideas."

"Batting around ideas?" The room suddenly seems airless and still. He staggers towards her and leans down. His voice is cold and empty. "We're not the student council trying to come up with a really cool theme for the senior prom. We're trying to save a life. Don't waste my time with cryptococcus."

She quickly brushes away the tears that have sprung to her eyes. He scowls and turns from her.

Someone suggests more serology tests and a lumbar puncture, but she has ceased to listen. He dismisses them, and she is first out the door.

They are gone. House glares at Wilson and dares him to speak. "Ouch," Wilson says after a moment. "That was pretty harsh, don't you think?

He grabs his cane and staggers into the hallway. Wilson catches up with him. "What was that all about?"

House gives him a dismissive wave. "Nothing. She's just..." He sighs. "She's got this idiotic crush on me."

"On you? Yeah, I can see why. You're so dreamy." Wilson snorts.

House ignores him and slaps at the elevator button. "She seems to think I reciprocate."

Wilson eyes him warily. "You're her boss, Greg. You do know what dangerous territory you're getting into, don't you?"

"Tell me again...which of your wives was also one of your med students?"

"Do as I say, not as I do," Wilson responds with a rueful smile and waits a beat before continuing. "So...do you reciprocate?"

House rolls his eyes. "Of course not. I'm her boss. That's ridiculous." The elevator door slides open and House steps inside.

"Methinks the cripple doth protest too much."

"You know, people always misquote that line. It doesn't mean what you think it means. Hamlet. Act III, scene ii. Look it up." And the elevator doors slide shut.

But of course, he has not told the truth to anyone, least of all himself. His eyes cannot stand his own reflection in the doors as they close, and the elevator swallows him up.