The day went by in a blur: leaving the hospital, going to his apartment to pack, the drive with Wilson, arriving at Mayfield, and ultimately being checked in. The only thing that House could focus on was the look in Cuddy's eyes, as she realized what was going on. Her normally compassion filled grey orbs had been full of terror. Now alone in his room, House tried to remind himself that she had been scared for him, scared of what might happen. However, knowing that his own mind was failing him, he wondered if the fear hadn't been aimed at him.

Lying on the scrap of furniture they referred to as a bed, House stared up ceiling, watching the shadow's dance along the surface. He rolled the past few days around in his mind, trying to make some sort of sense out of all of it. It had all seemed so real, from the conversations with Amber to the intimate moments with Lisa. No, not Lisa. She would never be Lisa to him again. She was Cuddy now: his boss, his superior, and always his unattainable.

Of course it seemed real. Amber grinned broadly. You are unbalanced, why wouldn't it seem genuine? Do you honestly think you can tell the difference between what's real and what isn't? You have been seeing me for days. You thrive on logic and reason, yet you tried to simply ignore my presence. What did you think would happen? You could just ignore me? Pretend I wasn't there? That things would just suddenly go back to normal?

House cursed and turned to his side. He had refused to interact with the apparitions ever since he had told Cuddy he wasn't all right. Amber mocked him now: egging him on, trying to get him to react. If it was possible, he would say she was more irritating dead than she had been alive. Kutner, on the other hand, just watched, occasionally speaking. Mostly, he simply watched House with a deep look of pity.

You're a cripple House and you're miserable. Did you actually think you could make Cuddy happy? Satisfy her? Kutner finally chimed in.

House covered his head with the pillow, trying to block them out. "Please just leave," he pleaded, near tears.

He heard the keys in the door and watched as it opened. "Dr. House?" the orderly addressed him.

House didn't acknowledge the question right away, not sure of what was real anymore.

"Dr. House? You asked me about seeing the doctors. I checked and it looks like they don't have you scheduled until tomorrow. They have cut your medicine though. This should help with the withdrawal," he added, handing House a Dixie Cup with one pill in it. "Goodnight." The orderly shut the door, not even waiting for House to respond.

House scoffed at the lone pill. It was methadone, but not enough to actually help. He crumpled the paper cup in his fist, the pill still inside. Tossing it across the room, he got back in bed. House lay there for hours, as the withdrawal started to settle in. It was subtle at first, but as the night went on it became worse. When he thought he could handle no more, House made his way painfully to the door.

Beating on it, he shouted for help, for relief, anything, but no one came. He was broken, weaker and more vulnerable than he had ever been. The sheen of sweat coating his body made the room seem cold and chilled. He laid there a mess on the floor trembling and crying. In a moment of defeat he searched for the pill, but gave up almost instantly. He didn't have the will or the hope to keep trying.

"Lisa," he whimpered, not caring that Amber was taunting him. He wanted the warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the look of love in her eyes. He could remember the feel her against him, if he closed his eyes. Imagining her there with him, he started to drift off into a delirious haze, murmuring her name.

You pathetic piece of shit, suck it up boy.

House flinched. This was undeniably a delusion. The voice he was hearing sent shivers down his back like no other. His father like both Amber and Kutner was dead. There was no way he was here now.

You think this pain is bad? This is nothing in comparison to what you've done to others. You don't deserve any relief. Yet look at you, lying on the floor, crying like a pansy, begging for someone to make it all better, begging for her to make it all better. You've hurt her more than anyone. His father sneered at him as he spoke. Hovering over Greg's crumpled form, he glared down at him, disgusted. You never deserved to be called my son. It's a good thing you weren't, you god dammed bastard child.

House watched, having no strength left to fight. His father's words stung as deep as they had when he was a child. The shame rose to his cheeks, as he curled his body instinctively.

His father's image raised a foot over his thigh and held it there, grinning. No relief.

House's eyes went wide with fright. He knew what this man was capable of, hallucination or not. His hands immediately moved to his thigh, attempting to shield the damaged area. "Please no," he cried.

Pathetic. His father stepped down, pressing all his weight on the damaged limb.

House's cries rang through the corridors of the hospital. He clenched his eyes shut trying to block everything out. He wished the pain was enough to pass out, but for some reason relief didn't come. The pain came in wave after wave, shooting from his leg all the way through his body.

"Greg?"

House blinked, as something stronger than the pain reached out to him. A voice he recognized.

"Greg? Wake up. Please? It's just a dream," Cuddy spoke, tenderly.

House opened his eyes. She was there, with him, in his bed.

"Greg?" Cuddy asked, holding onto one of his hands. Her other hand danced across his face in a soothing motion.

"Cuddy?" he asked, surprised. He looked around, only to find himself in his own bed, in his own apartment.

The gorgeous woman hovering over him smirked. "I thought after this morning we'd moved on to first names?"

"This morning?" he asked, incredulously. "This….this is real isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she said, looking worried now.

"Oh god Lisa," he whispered. He pulled her down into his arms and squeezed her close. He kept kissing the top of her head.

"Greg," she laughed gently, "Is everything okay?"

"I just had a bad dream. Lise?" he asked, nervously.

"Hmm?" she asked. Her voice was soft and lazy now. She was more than content to be wrapped up in his arms, especially with him being so clingy and possessive. She loved being the focus of his affection.

"Don't leave me," he whispered, "Ever. I love you Lisa."

"I love you to Greg," she whispered, kissing him softly. "I've always loved you. You're more than worth it Greg."

He let out a quiet sob and pulled the covers up covering them.

"I'm not gonna leave you." She continued to murmur to him until he drifted off to sleep. Content that he was at peace, she too drifted into slumber.