Their time alone was something Cuddy always looked forward to. When House was away from people and noise, in the comforting familiarity of his apartment or her home, the need to put up his defenses from whatever was driving him crazy at the moment disappeared. He could relax and open up a little. Not that Gregory House was going to share every single solitary detail about his life with her. She had the feeling that he only told her what he wanted her to know. But there was a change in him when they were alone together, an almost physical change as if he was pulling off a mask and allowed to be himself, more or less, and not the legendary misanthrope who haunted the corridors of the nearby hospital.
"Have you had any Vicodin today?" Cuddy asked carefully.
He was still stretched out on the sofa with a scruffier than usual beard and tired eyes, flickering candle flames instead of bright spotlights. Catching up on all the sleep that had eluded him for who knows how many years. But the minute the question left her mouth he was back on red alert, his defenses to fire when ready. His eyes took on the hard glare of suspicion. The mask was pulled on again. Cuddy's breath stopped dead in her throat.
"No," he answered flatly, as if he had been waiting for that question all day. He's had plenty of time to think about a lot of things lately. "Have you?"
"When was the last time you had one?" she continued, ignoring his sarcasm. She was amazed at how tolerant she had become to his wisecracks. She had to build up a tolerance or else beat him senseless with the nearest heavy object. Building up a tolerance was less messy and showed him that he couldn't always push her buttons without some kind of consequence.
"It's been a few days."
"How many days is a 'few'?"
"What's with the third degree?" He was getting more than a bit irritated at the sudden barrage of questions. Couldn't she ever just look and see he was fine? Did she always have to question him into the wee hours of the morning? "How long have we known each other now? All these years and you still have to question me. Have you suddenly realized that I'm addicted to painkillers? Have you decided on the spur of the moment to be bothered by that now?"
"Answer my question."
"Answer mine."
"How many days, Greg?" she asked, not giving an inch.
"Five. Okay, it's been five days. Happy now? Should I start keeping a post-shooting journal for you? Do you want to know what I had for breakfast or how many cups of coffee I've had today?"
"That's not necessary," she said in a tone that was pure coolness. Her own defenses were up. It was going to take more than a few sharp barbs from him to get her rattled. "Does your leg hurt?"
"No, but my stomach and neck hurt a little. I think I was shot in those places. You might want to make sure about that."
"I'm pretty sure that's what happened."
"Good thing it wasn't silver bullets, huh?"
Cuddy straightened up and swiped some hair out of her eyes. "You walked without your cane today," she announced importantly.
"You walk without a cane every day," he said, sitting up with a grunt. "I'll start making a big deal out of it if you want me to."
"You weren't limping."
"And your point is...?"
"My God, you aren't taking Vicodin, you're leg doesn't hurt, and you aren't limping. Do you know what this means for–"
"Judging from the dark circles under your eyes," House broke in, "it means that you've spent entirely too much time worrying about my addiction."
"I'm not worried about your addiction. I'm worried about you."
"You should spend more time worrying about the hospital instead of me. It's a waste of time."
"No, it's not. Don't ever say that."
"I already did."
"You're worth every second of my time. You know that as well as I do."
"Hmm...you're turning into a regular mother hen. Let me guess, it's another one of those silly things that couples do," he said with a thin smirk.
Her glare hardened into a thick sheet of ice. "There's nothing silly about you getting shot or the pain you have had to live with for years."
"There's a silly side to everything, Lisa. You just have to know where to look."
"Goddammit, are you even listening to me? Are you so dense that you can't see there are people around here who care about you?"
"I can count them on one hand."
"That's all you need."
The smirk melted into a smile. "And my number-one fan is sitting right here beside me. Isn't that right?" He held out his hand. She took it without hesitation.