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Chapter 6: The corner puzzle piece

You'll never solve this.

What?

You had a gift but you lost it. You were reckless and it cost you.

I'll figure it out eventually; I always do.

Not this time.

Why?

Because….this is the wrong case.

House sat up in bed startled. He was beginning to get sick of these cryptic ass dreams dropping clues and creeping him out. This time it was 13.

House threw the covers off and lifted his leg over the side of the bed. He missed the old days when he would find his answers by mocking and manipulating those around him until they said or did something that gave him a magical realization. Or a lucky guess.

He limped into the bathroom and peed, then grabbed his cane and headed for the kitchen. He wasn't too surprised to see Cuddy curled up on his couch. She usually popped up every few days there, having come to check on him in the middle of the night and then stay. He rubbed her shoulder until she turned over and opened her eyes, and he dropped down beside her.

"These late night visits would be much more fulfilling if you would just cut to the quip, take off your clothes and crawl into bed with me." She smiled.

"I couldn't sleep."

"All the more reason—"

Cuddy sat up and pushed her hair back off her shoulders. "How's your case coming?"

House rolled his eyes and stood up, heading for the kitchen. "No evidence of toxic exposure, nothing significant in the home. Cleaners, paints, aspirin…I'm starting to think that maybe it wasn't poison."

"Starting to think?" Cuddy had followed House into the kitchen. She was wearing one of his crumpled pink dress shirts and short black shorts. House smiled at the sight of her. The comfort with which she let herself into his home, came into his room and borrowed his clothes. Almost like a girlfriend. "Have you looked into any medical causes at all?" She asked him.

House shrugged. "I'm sure my team has cleverly decided to go behind my back and run a battery of useless tests to check for everything that it obviously isn't."

"But you don't have any theories?"

"She wasn't having a hallucination. She was speaking coherently in a language that she doesn't know right after she tried to spork her kid to death—"

"She could have heard that language anywhere House, in a movie or from an acquaintance. Psychosis, loss of consciousness, and vomiting blood are medical symptoms. You need to start there." She paused and thought for a second. "Kushings?"

"Yes, very good. Ignore the symptoms we can't explain and focus on the easiest, most wrong answer we can find."

Cuddy shook her head. "I've got to get to the hospital."

"Quitter."

"I have yet to hear you offer an even halfway brilliant idea."

"I'm pacing myself."

Cuddy disappeared into House's bedroom and reemerged a few minuets later fully clothed. She grabbed her keys off an end table. "Talked to Wilson lately?"

"Everyday," House said. "I'm sure any day now he'll start to talk back."

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "House—"

"It's fine." House sat down at his piano and tapped at the keys. "I get that he needs some space. I think the only thing that would get us back to normal is if I changed. Once I figure out how to not be me, I won't remind of him of myself or what I did…"

"Change what House?" Cuddy dropped her keys back on the table and walked over to the piano.

He shrugged. "Amber's death was the end result of unfortunate events, all triggered by my need to self-destruct. Maybe I need to start caring for other people or stop drinking or find a better way to deal with pain or…"

"I agree with all of those things." Cuddy sat down beside him. "But you are not a bad person House. And, at least that night, you were not self destructing."

House tapped at the piano a few more times and then stopped his finger frozen above a key and he turned to face Cuddy who was staring at the ground. He narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean 'that night'?" She didn't answer. "What do you know Cuddy?"