Pam was so befuddled by the fact someone was at her door so early that she didn't even think to check the peephole to see who it was. So she was more than a little thrown when she found herself face-to-face with a slightly disheveled Jim Halpert.

“What are you doing here?” She sputtered.

“Are you okay?” He asked at the same time.

“What?” They said in unison.

Pam ran a nervous hand over her hair, aware of her own less than flattering attire. “Why are you here?” She asked, positively sure she was dreaming.

“What do you mean?” Jim replied. “Your message.”

“What message?”

Jim fished his cell phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “You left a message less than a half-hour ago. You said it was really important and needed me to come right over.”

Pam shook her head. “No, I didn't.”

Jim frowned and flipped open his phone. “Pam, I have the message right here. Why are you denying it?”

“You might be wondering why I called you both here,” Gregory House said. Pam spun around and saw the now-familiar doctor standing in her living room.

“Well invite him in before he catches pneumonia out there,” House instructed, motioning for Jim to enter. “Not that he could, but at the very least your wasting perfectly good baseboard heating.”

Pam glanced up only briefly at Jim as she stepped back from the threshold so he could enter. She anxiously tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms, wishing that she at least had her robe on. It wasn't about showing skin; you could barely see anything above her knees. It was more how unattractive she felt in her old comfortable clothes. She was also rapidly becoming irritated at House as the realization that he orchestrated Jim's arrival sunk in.

Jim's anger was immediate upon seeing the man who'd been haunting him. What was he doing at Pam's apartment this early in the morning? Was there something going on between her and him? Then where did that leave him? And why then did she say the things she said? He glanced between Pam and the man, looking for answers he wasn't sure he wanted.

“What is going on?” Jim asked, still standing in the door frame. “Pam, who is this guy?”

“You-you don't recognize him?” Pam asked her eyes more on the floor than on his face.

“No.... should I?”

Pam bit her lip. “It's kinda hard to explain then.”

“Oh for chrissake, Halpert, just get in here and shut the door, man.” House paced the small length of available living room floor, his limp seemingly more noticeable more than ever. “I swear to God I've never met anyone more determined to fuck up every chance of happiness he has, and that includes yours truly.” He stopped, leaned on his cane while he fished out the vicodin bottle from his pocket. He glared at Jim as he swallowed down two. Jim finally stepped into the apartment, pushing the door behind him with a heavy thud and leaning back against it, his hands slipping into his pockets.

“And to answer the question I know is burning in the back of your mind,” House continued, gesturing in Pam's direction. “No, I'm not sleeping with your girlfriend here.” He leaned against the wall that once served as his white board. “Not that it wouldn't have been worth the try.”

“House!” Pam didn't like be talked about as if she wasn't standing right there.

“House?” Jim asked.

“Yes. House.” He confirmed. “Dr. Gregory House, Head of the Department of Diagnostic Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital. I'm here to save your life.”

Jim did not look convinced. If anything he was growing more and more lost in this conversation. “There's nothing wrong with me.”

House practically snorted. “That is probably the best joke I've heard in ages. Now you might as well have a seat and get comfortable. You too, Beesly.”

Pam walked toward the hallway. “I think I would like to get dressed first.”

House stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, then proceeded to turn her back around. “Not necessary. Trust me, you're already a vision.”

Pam scowled up at him. “Trust me, I know.”

He gently pushed her toward the couch. “Seriously, just sit down, okay?” As Pam acquiesced, he pointed at Jim. “You too, Lanky. Let's get this over with, shall we?”

Jim knew he did not want to be part of anything that included this guy. He disliked the man intensely, even as he was hard pressed to say why beyond his ability to show up at odd times and weird places. There was something just not right. Still, whenever anything involved Pam, Jim couldn't completely turn away. He looked over at her, and despite her clear discomfort over her appearance, he couldn't help but think how lovely she was. He reluctantly pulled away from the door and sat down on the couch, a respectable distance away from Pam.

“Thank you,” House said mockingly. “Now was that really so hard?”

“House, what do you want?” Pam asked snappishly. “I didn't send Jim a message asking him to come over here.”

House dragged the armchair across the floor until it sat across from the sofa, not beside it. He flopped himself into it, putting his injured leg up on the coffee table before replying. “Of course you didn't,” House agreed. “Because that's exactly the thing you should have done.” He nodded slightly. “No need to thank me.”

“That was you?” Jim shook his head and then leaned back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling. No one said a word for a minute, and then Jim slapped his hands against the tops of his thighs and began to stand. “Okay, seeing as you don't really need me here, I'm going to go back home.”

“Of course you're needed here,” House replied. “I wouldn't have wasted good impersonation skills if I didn't need you here.”

“I don't give a damn about what you need,” Jim retorted, now standing.

House sighed dramatically and pointed his cane at Pam. “Are you sure this is really the guy you want to spend the rest of your life with?” He dropped his leg from the table and leaned forward. “Because he's really a bit of a dick, isn't he?”

Maybe it was due to the lack of sleep or the sheer ridiculousness of it all, but Pam started to giggle.

“Hey!” Jim looked over at Pam.

She held up one hand, the other covering her mouth. “Sorry.” She giggled again. “I'm not laughing at that.”

“Really?” Jim cocked his eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Really.” She giggled a little again. She shook her head, trying to gain some semblance of control. “This is insane.”

“Now there's something we agree on,” Jim replied sardonically.

“Okay, can we get back to me?” House interrupted. “I mean, there are a lot more worthwhile things I could be doing, most of them involving tequila and scantily clad Hooters waitresses.”

Then House stood up suddenly, leaning on his cane. “Why is it,” he asked slowly, “That you both go to such extremes to avoid being alone together?”

“We don't,” Pam replied quickly.

“Oh no?” House rolled his eyes. “So you really were sick with Ebola yesterday. That's why you didn't go into work. And you,” he added, looking at Jim. “Are you going to deny it too?”

Jim said nothing, but continued to stand in front of the sofa.

House limped around the chair, pausing to lean against the back of it. “Here's what perplexes me, and I'm not a man easily perplexed. If you want to be with him,” he pointed his cane from Pam to Jim, “and you want to be with her,” he reversed his cane's motion, “then why aren't you?”

The resulting silence was deafening.

“Well?” House prodded.

Jim was fed up with the interrogation and headed toward the door. “I don't need to stay here for this.”

House made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Oh, I'm sorry – I'm afraid you do.”

Jim put his hand on the doorknob of the front door but it wouldn't turn. He attempted to release the lock no no avail.

“Nope, that's not going to work,” House mused. “Besides, even if it did your transportation is currently unavailable.”

Jim stepped quickly over to the front window and pushed the curtain aside. “Where's my car?” He turned to face House. “Where is it?”

“Relax, it's fine.” House shrugged. “But when was the last time you had it professionally cleaned?”

“Pam...” Jim said her name with a tone that was somewhere between frustration and a request for assistance.

Pam stood up. “House, can I talk to you? In private?”

House threw up his hands. “Whatever.” He started to follow her toward the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to look back at Jim. “Don't go anywhere,” he admonished, then smirked. “Oh, that's right. You can't.”

Pam was standing in front of the refrigerator, head rested against it, when House walked in.

“This has got to stop.” She said firmly, not moving from her position. “Now.”

“Why? It's all going so swimmingly.”

“No.” She said severely, lifting her head and looking him in the eye. “This isn't what I want.”

House frowned. “What do you mean? Of course this is what you want.”

“Not like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this! Like you tricking him into showing up at my door, as if that's all that was needed to fix everything.” She sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “In case you haven't noticed, it isn't working.”

“It will, it will,” he nodded, mostly to himself. “You'll see.”

She pointed over House's shoulder. “All I see is Jim getting angrier by the minute, and I can't blame him.”

“It's all part of the process--”

“No,” she interrupted, “it's not.”

“Pam, I know what's wrong here. I know how to fix it.”

“Dr. House,” Pam pleaded. “I know how good you are at what you do. I won't deny that. But this isn't some mystery illness we're dealing with. You can't just figure out what's wrong and apply the antidote and we're all better.”

“Yes, I can,” House disagreed. “I think this is an illness of sorts, and I know how to treat it.”

“I don't want you to.”

House did a double take. “Of course you want me to.”

She shook her head. “Not like this. It won't work like this. You may know so much more than I ever will, but I know Jim. I know Jim better than you ever could, and this is not going to help anything.”

House rubbed his lips with his fingers and leaned back against the counter, clearly thinking over what she had said. “So how do you think it will work?” He finally asked.

They stared at each other. “I think,” she said softly, “That I have to do this on my own.”

House twirled his cane between his fingers, staring at the tiled floor as he gave it more thought.

“Okay,” he said suddenly, ceasing his cane twirling and thumping it on the ground. “Maybe you're right.” He nodded again. “We can try it your way.”

“What does that mean?” Pam didn't believe he'd back down quite so quickly.

“It means,” House said as he stood upright. “That I am outta here.”

“That's it?”

“That's it. It's your life, Beesly. Screw it up as you see fit.” House scratched his brow. “But I really did send his car out for detailing so he'll still be stuck here for at least another hour. The guys get totally backed up with work on Saturdays.”

And then Dr. Gregory House vanished before her eyes.