Retreating seemed to be her biggest coping mechanism. And the art of being in retreat for her meant disconnecting. Sitting in an empty house, in her living room, in the dark. The state of merely just being and letting your loneliness register over a cup of boiling hot tea. Clutching unto a scalding mug because the pain in her hands seems to be the only thing she wishes to focus on. The blank stare she directed at the empty television made her look as if she were in a state of complex seizure—a closing off to the world that was so intense that the body functioned on while the mind took a slumber. Her feet were still barefoot in nylons and tucked under her body. The shawl from her living room was wrapped around her.

A voice in the distance said, "You've reached Lisa Cuddy…" She was startled out of non-existence. The phone rang and she didn't even notice. She went to the machine and listened to the rest of her own voice. She wanted to answer the phone. It may be the hospital. It may be her mother or a friend. It was surely someone who wanted to talk to her enough to hold through her mail message to leave one of their own.

But she was screening. Wishing to avoid the inevitable exchange between her and the man that put her into catatonic bouts of grief. The tone beeped.

"Cuddy? Hi. It's Wilson. I… can't find House. He has a patient that needs a treatment of 500 CCs of methadalase for an intense skin infection. He went to get your consent this afternoon, but no one has seen him since then. And, this patient is in very critical condition…."

"Wilson." She said, picking up the phone.

"Oh, hi." She could feel his relief on the other end.

"Hi."



"Did you see House?"

"No. But, I'm coming in now to sign the consent papers." Lisa hung up the phone. The less Wilson knew; the better. She didn't want to lie to the oncologist, but telling him the truth right now was not in her strength. She had a job to do.

The hospital doorway looked bright and inviting. The florescent lights and sanitary smells never bothered her. The hospital was like a way-station, people dropping off, leaving, visiting, dying, there was never any permanence except for the employees and even then there was a shift change. When Lisa thought about it, she seemed to be one of the most permanent fixtures of the hospital. Her office was spacious; she had a full bath, a couch. Sometimes she did sleep there. It was a refuge. Paperwork never seemed so attractive to her than at that moment.

She walked into the lobby. Employees looked up, stared at her, smiled even. She was on display for them, their figure-head. Most of the time she truly wondered if people respected her. She made a direct line for the elevators to her office. Wilson was sitting outside the door in her assistant's desk; Michael must have figured he could go home today since his boss didn't even bother to come back for lunch. Wilson held out the consent forms, Cuddy took the forms from him and began signing her name.

"Apparently." He paused, "Nurse Brenda says you weren't here all day either. Since lunch. And, you didn't see House?" He tried to look into her eyes, but she ducked her head and continued to focus on the paperwork. She handed him the file.

"Cuddy?" he asked.



"You have my signature. Do your job. Go treat the patient." She began to walk into her office.

"You're in retreat, Cuddy. You're licking your wounds."

She was struck still at the entrance of her office by his words. Her hand on the door. She could feel a hand being placed on her back. She breathed, "Not now, Wilson."

"What did House do?"

She shook her head and went into her office. Closing and locking the door behind her. Wilson stood at the glass for a moment, but then turned and walked off down the hall.

Lisa sat in the dark office for a while on the couch. The red neon lights on the clock reflected back the time. It was 10:00pm. She felt guilt being locked up with her stacks of paper work and not at least attempting to stare at them. She brought her work to the table in her office and then turned on the light. She tied back her hair and held a pen in her hand and slightly tapped it against her cheek.

It was almost a year ago since she and Wilson sat in this office while she balled telling him the story of her failed fertility attempts. Wilson never spoke to her about that time since. But, occasionally, she could feel his eyes on her. Caring. Watching her interactions with House carefully. Lisa wondered if Wilson ever broached the topic with House about her "last stab" at Motherhood or if he even knew about the miscarriage. But, this thought was fleeting, she trusted Wilson. And, knowing House, Lisa was sure that she was not mentioned in their conversations beyond a sexual comment or perhaps an insult directed at her lack of objectivity when it came to patients.



She heard the handle to her office jiggling. Startled, she looked up to see House. She closed her eyes hoping he would disappear. When her eyes re-opened, she saw him holding up a shoe. Her red high heel.

She unlocked the office door, but did not move to invite him in; instead, she merely went back to her table and paperwork. He soon followed her. He sat in the chair opposite her, and put her pair of heels on the table with a slight bang. He wanted her full attention, but she was unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Unwilling to let him see her break down again.

"You didn't come back in today." He said.

"Neither did you, apparently. Where were you? Your patient was crashing!"

"Me? I was in Oz. Some munchkins thought I killed the Wicked Witch. Must have been those red heels I was carrying around. They want your broomstick, by the way. The Wizard said if I gave it to him I could have anything my heart desired. I chose a month off clinic."

"House." She was annoyed. She chose to look him in the eye, "Your patient could have died."

"I was in the process of getting the Dean of Medicine's permission for treatment; however, she was unavailable for my consult due to massive amounts of accumulated emotional baggage. Just tell that patient, oh well, bureaucracy's a bitch. Good thing Wilson saved your ginormous ass."

"Yes, good thing Wilson was here to look after your patient." She was writing on her papers now, preparing to not look up at House again. She said, "Are we finished here? Because 

I don't remember inviting you in, and since your patient is being treated—finally—you can go home now."

House took that as his cue to leave. Lisa heard him walk to the door. His hand was on the handle as he opened it to leave. She was holding her breath for release, hoping to hear the door close. No sound came.

"Cuddy." He said, in a low voice. His face was directed at the floor.

"What?"

"You are a glutton for self-punishment. Going to a Babies 'R'Us…" He paused and looked her in the eye, "Stop willfully causing your pain." He closed the door behind her. Her eyes followed him down the hall until she could no longer see him.