Disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

"She knows," House whispered to Wilson as soon as he had the opportunity.

Mrs. Wilson had gone to pour House a drink, still clucking over him, hovering, asking if he was all right. His Wilson's eyes had rolled up so far into their sockets House thought they might do a back flip. Judith, Wilson's brother, and Wilson's brother's wife had all absented themselves until House was left sitting next to his Wilson on the living room sofa.

Wilson's forehead furrowed. "Who knows?" he asked, his voice at regular volume.

"Your niece," House said in an insistently clandestine whisper.

Wilson stared at him—that Wilson stare—then leaned closer to play along. "What does she know?" he whispered with dramatic secrecy.

House narrowed his eyes slightly, then raised an eyebrow, conveying the information silently. He added for good measure, and with a slight leer, "She knows."

House watched Wilson process the information, turn his head just so in disbelief—

No. She doesn't. She can't.

Oh, but she does.

—and pale sickeningly. Wilson caught his forehead in a palm, then peeked up at House, gaunt and aghast, his mouth hanging open stupidly.

Under normal circumstances, House loved to make him squirm, but this situation was far from normal. So, against his nature—again, what was it with this family that made him go against his nature?—he leaned in and whispered, "I don't thinks she's going to tell anyone."

Wilson gaped. "But—how?"

House shrugged just as Mrs. Wilson returned with a glass of lemonade.

"Here you are, Greg," she chirped, folding herself into a chair opposite the couch after House took the proffered glass.

House drank deeply and let out a satisfied 'ahhh' when he came up for air. "Delicious. Thank you."

He sensed Wilson's shock at his good behavior; his smile brightened.

"James was just telling us about what happened to your leg," she said. She leaned forward, offering a hand across the coffee table as if to pat him on the back. "I hope you don't mind."

She glanced quickly at Cupcake. House sensed him squirm and imagined him wanting to roll his eyes. If he didn't have similar power over Cupcake, he'd envy this woman.

"Not at all," House said brightly.

Mrs. Wilson's face melted in sympathy. "What an awful experience," she said. "And there's nothing anyone can do?"

House's smile began to grate. "Nothing I want anyone to do," he answered, just tightly enough for her to understand that he disliked the topic.

And wonder of wonders, she noticed the subtlety and instantly rearranged her face.

"I was just asking James about girlfriends," she said.

Wilson squirmed frantically. House smiled into the lip of the lemonade glass.

"What about you, Greg?"

House almost choked when she—did she really? yes, she did—she demurred at him.

"Such a handsome man," she continued—was she blushing? no, she couldn't be blushing—"Women must fall all over each other for you."

Briefly, House wondered if it were possible for Wilson to burst. The cartoon of Cupcake reddening, boiling, steam shooting from his ears, then finally exploding played out in his head.

He grinned and took a breath. "Well," he began, eyes sparkling with mischief. "There is one woman…"

Wilson's head snapped up.

House made himself blush and fawn. "I admire her from afar."

He leaned closer to Mrs. Wilson, cupping a hand to the side of his mouth as though trying to keep Cupcake from knowing.

"She's our boss."

He felt Wilson groan next to him and he grinned even wider.