Hectic next few weeks, update might be in a while.

Cuddy stared down at House, jaw still gaping. She forced herself to breathe, feeling like she was going to choke.

She was hallucinating. She had to be.

Gregory House was not unconscious on her floor. He couldn't be. The man was dead!

And yet.

Cuddy felt her heart speed up as she dropped to a crouch. She pressed two fingers to his neck. He was hot, and sweaty... And he had a pulse. What? She pressed an ear to his mouth and heard shallow breathing. All too familiar breathing.

She flew backwards, scrambling heavily into the wall. The breathing reminded her of the phone call and the nightmare. A hand flew to her chest. Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe.

Tentatively she crawled forward towards him, trying to find the source of the blood. It had stained his shirt but it didn't appear to be his own. Still, Cuddy gently removed the fabric. Ugly bruises covered his lower abdomen. She winced and pressed a finger to the purple area – swollen. He needed treatment.

She pushed herself up to her feet and made her way back to the kitchen. She removed an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it up in paper towels, stumbling back to House, functioning more on autopilot and instinct than anything.

She was contemplating how to get him onto the couch when House came back to. Cuddy watched as his eyelids struggled to open, and when they did, the blue startled her as they did every time.

He stared at her for the longest time, and her at him. Questions sparkled in her eyes.

"Think you can make it to the couch?" She whispered. He nodded and slowly got up, limping to the couch. Just as he rounded the corner of the room, he stumbled, but Cuddy slipped under his arms and was there to catch him. He turned to her, and her to him, and the two blinked at the closeness and looked away.

Once House had lain down, Cuddy fussed over him. She placed the ice pack on his chest and wrapped the rest of him in blankets. Still, he seemed uncomfortable and in pain. Cuddy had an idea and ran off, returning with a glass of water and Ibuprofen.

House raised a hand to accept the pills, but Cuddy pushed it away. "Hush," she said, and slipped 3 pills into his mouth.

House stared at and studied her as she poured the water in between his lips, and Cuddy ignored him. Satisfied with her handiwork, Cuddy settled back in the chair opposite. House eyed her, and they continued their little staring match.

Eventually he fell asleep, and Cuddy's mind switched off autopilot.

He was real. Alive. It wasn't possible that he was a hallucination.

How? They'd informed her he was dead – multiple times. Yet here he was, lying on her couch. Cuddy shook her head – she'd figure this out tomorrow. There were more pressing issues at hand.

She dialed the first speed dial on her phone.

"Yes?" A familiar male voice answered. Cuddy relaxed.

"Sorry to wake you, Tom, but I need a favor." She bit her lip.

"At five in the morning?" He sounded tired.

"Yes, it's urgent. Quite urgent."

"Okay, what do you need me to do?"

"Can you come get Rachel and take her to school today? Something has... come up." She pleaded.

"Sure, babe, what time?"

"Seven-thirty, please. Oh, thank you so much! I owe you."

"You don't owe me anything. Love you," Tom replied, voice filled with affection.

"Love you, too," she breathed, heart flipping. She hung up and turned to House, sighing.

She made herself tea – when in doubt – and curled up on the chair in front of him. Sipping her tea periodically, she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, letting it soothe her mind.

Cuddy spent the day doing housework. She called in sick, taking the day off. House drifted in and out of consciousness, but he was never up for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

She made him chicken noodle soup and spoon-fed him, and he didn't say a word the whole time he was awake. Cuddy was dying inside to ask questions, but every time she brought up the courage to ask, he was starting to drift off. Every time he looked at her apologetically, but she nodded and told him to sleep.

In the late afternoon, she found him awake as she checked in after a jog.

"Hungry?" She asked. He shook his head, and Cuddy sat on the chair facing him, cross-legged. She was aware she was sweaty and out of breath, but she couldn't stand it anymore – she needed answers. House was aware that she wanted them now, and propped himself up to a sitting position, grimacing. Cuddy looked on expectantly. House was silent for a very long time, seemingly organizing his thoughts.

"What did they tell you about my death?" He finally started, slowly, choosing his words with care.

Cuddy shifted, returning to her memories of that day half a year ago. "I got the call from the cops first. They informed me that your body had been identified from the ruins of a burnt building. They were certain it was you – the dental records confirmed it. I got a similar call from Wilson a few days later."

House nodded. "Makes sense. Did you hear from Wilson afterwards?"

"No," Cuddy said slowly.

"But you knew what was..." House swallowed. "Going on?"

Cuddy averted her gaze. "Yes, I knew about the cancer. The last time I spoke to him, before your death, though, was the argument over his treatment plan."

"So you knew it was stage II thymoma, then?"

Cuddy nodded, meeting his gaze again. House dropped it.

"He had five months to live around the time I 'died'," House explained quietly.

Cuddy squeezed her eyes closed. That was six months ago now. "So... You're saying... He's..."

House nodded, voice pained. "Yes."

Pain shot through her, and her vision blurred. "When? How?" She choked, desperate for answers.

"About three weeks ago. It metastasized to his liver, and at the very end, to his brain." House let her absorb this. Cuddy was enveloped with grief of an unbearable level.

James Wilson is no more.

"But you...?" She finally asked.

"Yes. Here's the story: I had a case that involved a drug addict. He told me he sold heroin – I needed something exciting in my life, something to take away the mounting pain." He paused and toyed a pillow with his thumbs. "As you know, I went on parole after a decently short jail time."

Cuddy looked down, recognizing the uncomfortable place they were headed. House found it difficult to bring up the old memories.

"They had me on a tight leash, especially after I tried to wiggle out of it so many times. But as the months past, the parole and its boundaries were pushed to the back of my mind. More pressing issues were at hand, like Wilson's situation."

Cuddy looked back at him. She could see it in his eyes; he was somewhere far away, not in her living room. "Then a prank went wrong – it involved plugged toilets and soaked MRI machines – and my parole was revoked. I was to go back to jail for six months, and that was after pulling some strings, and Wilson only had five to live."

He checked to see if she was following; she nodded. "I needed to find a way to get out of it, even just for the amount of time I had left with Wilson. There were solutions, but I knew all weren't foolproof and some even failed beforehand. When all seemed lost, I turned to the patient I mentioned before."

He paused for a long time, and Cuddy felt as if there was something he wasn't telling her.

"The next thing I remember is being in a burning building. The chance arose; if I could fake my death, I could escape my sentence and be with Wilson. I did- I didn't even let him know until absolutely necessary. I switched the dental records, made sure everyone knew I was dead without a doubt."

Cuddy nodded. "I get it now. You're not dead, but you're 'dead'. What about the next few months?"

House stiffened, his voice laden with grief. Cuddy observed him; felt his pain.

"We went on a road trip across America on motorcycles. Made a bucket list and planned it all before we left. And it was good." He swallowed.

"He got very sick just outside of Las Vegas. We were planning on going to California next and then heading back east through Arizona, but we never made it to the golden state. He died in the Boulder City Hospital in Nevada."

Cuddy found this hard to take, but she knew the story wasn't over yet. "And then what happened to you?"

"Wilson left all his money to me, seeing as I couldn't access my own since I'm 'dead'. For half a week I spent most of it on booze and other grief-relievers. When it started to run out, I realized I needed somewhere to go. Everyone knew I was dead and attended my funeral. There was nowhere left to go..."

"You could've turned yourself in. You should've..."

"And I will pay, one day, but it's too soon, Cuddy. I can't, not yet. I figured you were my best bet. You weren't at the funeral, you don't know much about anything that was happening back home. So, please, don't turn me in."

Cuddy hesitated, looking at him.

"Not yet." He repeated.

She reluctantly agreed. "Fine, not yet. We'll discuss this later, continue. How'd you get the bruises?"

"I was drunk in a bar in small-town Pennsylvania. Money was running low, and it's hazy, but I remember getting into a fight."

Oh, God. "The blood?"

"I didn't stab him or anything; though the sonovabitch deserved it. The blood was from his nose; it started gushing after the third swing. Then he repeatedly hit me with a bar stool, which caused these bruises. I was close to here, and I made it the same night after a long haul of hitchhiking."

"How'd you know where I live?"

"Wilson's contacts, reverse phone lookup." He replied. "That's it, here I am."

Silence encircled them.

"I won't call the cops," Cuddy started. "Yet. You're in no shape to do anything but rest. You can stay here for now."

House looked relieved. "Thank you."

Cuddy nodded absentmindedly, still absorbing everything. By the time she refocused, House was asleep again.

An hour or so later, Cuddy stepped out of the shower. Her mind was still reeling over all this information, and the 45 minute shower hadn't helped much. So much as still to be discussed.

She put on a housecoat and wrapped her hair up in a towel, padding to her bedroom, where she quickly threw on some clothes. She then checked in on House, who was awake again.

"How are you feeling? You can take some more Ibuprofen in an hour. Hungry?" She asked quickly.

"Yes, actually." She nodded and turned away, but House reached for and latched onto her knee. Her skin burned and her blood turned to ice.

"We need to talk. Talk talk, at some point."

She knew this was true – she'd been avoiding it by acting on instinct since he'd arrived.

"At some point." She agreed. But not yet. He let go of her leg and she went to make them some grilled cheese. They ate together in silence.

"I've decided to help you. I don't know why. But I have. Whatever you decide to do, I'll keep you in line."

He stared at her; she blushed.

Why was she doing this?

Before either spoke there was a knock on the door.

"But we need to discuss more," she added as she got up.

"We do."

Cuddy shushed him and motioned for him to lie flat before opening the door. Tom and Rachel stood on her front porch. Cuddy's face broke out in a huge grin as she hugged her daughter.

"How was school?" She asked, brushing the small child's hair out of her eyes. Rachel grinned back. "It was fun! Tom-Tom even gave me cookies!"

Cuddy smiled up at the man holding her daughter's hand, rising up to greet him.

"I hope that's alright?" He asked genuinely. Cuddy nodded nonchalantly.

"Why don't you go off to your room and Mommy will bring you a snack?" She turned back to her daughter. Rachel nodded and bounded off. The two adults watched her go as Tom wrapped his arms around Cuddy.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nuzzled her neck. Shivers ran up and down her spine as they stepped into the house. She closed her eyes and reached up to muss his hair. He was kissing her shoulders when Cuddy remembered she had House on her couch. Her eyes widened in surprise and she broke away, facing Tom, and putting an arm on the doorframe so he couldn't pass.

"What's wrong?" He frowned.

"Nothing," She said, a little too quickly. He stepped forward, and Cuddy pressed her free hand to his chest. He looked hurt.

"I can't, not tonight." She bit her lip for the second time that day.

"Why not?" More frowning.

My violent ex-boyfriend is asleep on the couch. That's all.

"I have a really big meeting about the new endocrinology lab's budget. I can't have any distractions."

He didn't look convinced, so Cuddy rose on her tippy toes and gave him a kiss.

"Soon. You know I love you."

Finally, he smiled and kissed her back. "Fine." With that, he retreated outside. "Good luck and good night."

Cuddy smiled and shut the door, pushing her back against it for a brief moment. She walked out of the entrance to find House staring at her with an amused expression.

Before he could open his mouth, Cuddy pointed an accusing finger.

"Shut up. You have no right." With that, she turned and stalked off.

Thanks for your time, as always!