"Ow!"

Cuddy cried out as her head smacked into the wall, her body sliding between the toilet and the tub. She was much drunker than she had been in the past few years, which was evident as she couldn't take three steps without almost falling on her ass.

"Cuddy, stay still."

"I can't…"

She whimpered from the narrow spot she had fallen between, her words muffled as her face was turned toward the tub.

"I can't get up."

Her hand smacked at the toilet, trying to find a grip stable enough to help herself up. House couldn't help but to chuckle a bit as he hobbled over, grabbing her arm, and yanked her up.

She felt a dizziness move through her head from the quick movement, her hand slapping against her forehead.

"Throw up."

House pointed toward the toilet, tugging her hair into a ponytail at the base of her neck.

"I don't need to throw up…I need…I need tacos."

"It's five in the morning."

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her mouth falling open.

"FIVE?!"

Her hand smacked even harder against her forehead as she let herself fall back against the wall, her head hitting with unpleasant sound thump.

House rolled his eyes, taking hold of her arm again, and pulled her to her feet. His arm instinctively went around her waist, and he nudged her toward her bedroom.

"C'mon, we'll get you to bed."

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Why not?"

She looked a little offended, trying to jerk her body away from him but his grip was too tight.

"Because you're drunk."

"So? Isn't that like…your thing? I was drunk last time too."

"You were nineteen."

"And?"

"And stupid."

"I'm not stupid!"

"You were."

"Was not."

"You slept with me, didn't you?"

"Ah…you got me there."

He rolled his eyes, shoving her onto the bed a little harder than he had meant to. He grabbed her leg, removing her heels.

"It's not wonder you kept tripping. I'm pretty sure Deans aren't supposed to wear hooker shoes."

She hiccupped before flopping back on the bed, her hands falling heavily onto her belly.

"They're Jimmy Choo…"

"…okay?"

"Not hooker shoes."

He held the shoe up, examining the three inch heel, his eyebrow cocking dramatically.

"How many working girls have you seen in shoes like these?"

"I don't buy hookers."

"Oh, you should, their loads of fun."

"Pig."

"Prude."

He moved to her jeans, and her head quickly snapped up, and her hands flew on top of his; she may have been drunk, but she wasn't stupid.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Do you want to sleep in your jeans?"

"I can do it myself."

"I'd prefer not having to drive you in because you got a concussion."

He pushed her hands away, unbuttoning her jeans, and slid them down her legs. She had decided against a thong when she'd gotten ready, but the semi-see-through boy-cut panties that she chose weren't much better.

House smirked, lifting his eyes up to meet the flushed face of his boss.

"For someone who didn't want sex you sure picked the wrong underwear."

"Shut up, House."

He chuckled a bit as he unbuckled the thick red belt from around her waist, tossing it onto the floor along with her pants. Sure, he knew where her hamper was, but he wasn't a maid; she could deal with it in the morning.

After situating her on the bed he pulled the covers over her.

"Are you leaving?"

"I kind of figured this is where our night would end."

"What if I fall?"

"Don't?"

"I might have to throw up…"

"Diagnosticians need sleep too."

"You don't sleep."

He narrowed his eyes at her, watching as a faint smile moved over her dry lips.

"Fine, but just until you fall asleep. You want me to check under the bed for monsters too?"

Even trashed his snarky comments bugged her. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"Not tired."

"You will be."

House sat rounded the bed, sitting down on the edge of it, tapping his cane on the floor. He could feel her eyes on him, but decided not to look up; he really didn't want to see what was in her eyes.

"Are you thinking about that guy?"

"Arnello."

"Yeah…him."

"No."

"What are you thinking about?"

His eyebrow cocked as he looked up. She seemed genuinely interested, but he figured that must have been the liquor doing its job; though her eyes seemed less glazed, meaning she was slowly starting to sober up, so maybe she really did want to know.

"Is this Oprah?"

"I'm curious."

"I'm thinking that I wish you'd shut up and go to sleep."

"I'm not, so you mind as well tell me."

"I'm thinking about the case."

"The case you didn't want?"

"What can I say? It got interesting."

She nodded slowly as she folded her hands under her head, gently gnawing at the inside of her cheek, her eyes struggling to stay open.

"Good night, Cuddy."

He muttered under his breath just as she fell into a drunken coma, and looked at the clock. It was nearly six, he was too tired to drive home, and Cuddy's couch wouldn't agree with his leg in the morning. He kicked his shoes off, leaning his can against the nightstand, and lay back on the bed, and tried to keep his body as far away from hers as possible, but the temptation was almost too much. Thankfully he was able to keep himself in check, and drifted off to sleep.

House jolted up right to the sound of a scream, followed by a loud beeping. Why was it so hot? And why was Cuddy hitting him. His eyes finally focused only to be met with a thick smoke nearly hiding the flames in the corner of the room.

"What the hell?"

It took him a minute to realize that Cuddy was jumping out of the bed, sheet in hand. Before he could stop her she smothered the flames with it, letting out a slight curse as a small ember burned the inside of her wrist. She stomped on the blanket a few more times to make sure she got it all then stood back, breathing heavily.

When she pulled the sheet away from the area that had been burned they both spotted a flare that had obviously set her carpet on fire. She let out a heavy sigh before running her hand over her face, and walked to the bed, plopping down next to House.

She wasn't really concerned with the fact that she didn't remember how they ended up sleeping in her bed, or why she was half nude. She had been drinking, and from the pounding in her head she had a feeling it was a lot.

"You should call the police."

"And tell them what, Cuddy?"

"The truth? Believe it or not it does work."

"I'm taking some time off?"

"What?"

"If I'm not around maybe they'll back off everyone here. I shouldn't have even come here last night."

"Don't blame yourself. They probably would have come here anyway…"



This was insane. She believed everything he was saying and there were still many unanswered questions she had. How did she know this wasn't just another one of his sick and twisted ways of screwing with her?

"Who am I supposed to blame? It's my fault they're all pissed off."

"I don't know…but you're not going to run away from your problems in hopes that everything will just go back to normal. Go to the cops…tell them what's going on. It's better than running scared for the rest of your life."

"What makes you think you're right?"

"The same thing that always makes you think you're right."

"I don't think; I know."

"Well, whatever. I know, then."

She pushed herself up from the bed, wrapping her robe around herself, and fluffed her hair. It was weird to have him in her bedroom so early in the morning; it was weird to have him in her room period.

"I'm going to make some breakfast. Do you want anything?"

"Your bedroom was just on fire and you're going to eat?"

"I have a hangover and nothing is going to get solved by freaking out. It's not like I can go to the police with this; we don't have any evidence that it was Arnello."

He nodded slowly as he grabbed his cane, brushing his hand over his scruffy face.

"Coffee?"

"Of course."