He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Getting ready to come to bed. I had turned in an hour earlier; tossing, turning and dozing on and off.

I wasn't asleep but pretended to be when he finally came limping into the bedroom. I listened as he peeled of his clothes, tossed them to the hamper and missed. My clothes are in there while his are scattered in a ten square foot area on that side of the room. I gave up picking up his clothes. It was easier to keep our laundry separated when all of his was on the floor. Heard the rattle of the Vicodin bottle as he took his last pill of the day. A soft thunk as he leaned the cane against the night stand. A grunt and the bed dipped as he lifted his leg onto the bed and slipped under the covers.

"Jimmy?" His voice was quiet. His aggression was at bay for the time being or else he'd had have me pinned down and be ripping off my clothes again. Not that I really mind that, but I do mind if I'm trying to go to sleep.

He inched closer. I knew he was propped up on his elbow and looking down at me. My back was to him and the room was dark so I don't know what the hell he was seeing. Then I felt his fingers tracing up and down my spine and realized he wasn't interested in seeing anything at all. The sensation of touch was what he was amusing himself with at the moment, feeling warmth under the whorls of his fingers. Those lovely fingers that are capable of doing so many dazzling things. As they left my spine and started tracing the curve of my shoulder, a new sensation began to bloom in me. It was possessiveness–this is what he felt with me. It was these quiet moments together that make every headache he gives me worthwhile. I get this kind and gentle side of him all to myself; nobody else can have it. It belongs to me and me alone.

I reached over and grabbed his hand. He didn't try to wrench out of my grip; it was like he had been expecting me to take his hand.

"You were never asleep," he said softly.

"No." I turned over and saw his silhouette against the blue glow filtering in from the streetlights outside the window.

"Good. Now I don't have to apologize for waking you."

I laughed softly and said, "You wouldn't have anyway, even if you did."

"Nope."

"I didn't think so." I tugged gently on his arm. "Lay down."

Much to my surprise he didn't offer a half-hearted protest or even try to argue with me. Instead he quietly did what he was told, taking over my pillow and forcing me to move over. He pretty much took over my half of the bed.

"What's the occasion?" I inquired as he made himself comfortable, our foreheads touching. His breath was warm on my neck and smelled minty.

"What occasion?"

"This right here. You're usually not this...lovable. Especially after we've been arguing."

"We argued earlier this afternoon. We made up later. Remember?"

"That still doesn't explain why you're being so warm and cuddly."

"Getting my fix from my other addiction," Greg answered blithely, like I should have known all along. "Learning to appreciate what I have. I just want to be close to you. Take your pick."

It was the second answer that had me intrigued. "You appreciate me, Greg?"

"Don't make me answer that."

Okay, I wouldn't. "You're addicted to me?" I grinned at the thought.

"You're almost as good as Vicodin." The sincerity in that answer rang through the dark room. That was a twisted Greg House compliment if I ever heard one.

"Almost?" I teased, honestly wanting to hear what his warped explanation would be.

"A very close second, Jimmy."

"How close?"

"A photo finish. It's a different kind of high and a different kind of addiction, but it's almost as good. The thing is the pills can't appreciate me back. They don't yearn to share my bed. They don't wait for me to come cuddle with them in the middle of the night."

"Is that what you think? That I was waiting for you?"

"That's what I'm going to think whether you were actually were or not. So there."

"Fine with me, Greg."

"I knew it would be." He draped an arm over my chest. "You're going to be busy taking care of your patient for a while."

He was right about that. The antidepressants were going to have to be put on hold for the next week or so, unless a coffee shop decided to open up next to my office. At least his mood wasn't in an apocalyptic downward spiral.

"I should have come to bed earlier," he continued.

"You didn't have to if you didn't want to," I said.

"I should have anyway," he said in a low voice. "I like having you here, you know."

He likes having me here with him. Because he needs me to be here for him. He needs me.

But one little fact was nagging at the back of my mind. He needed something else, too. I brushed my fingers along the line of his neck and said, "I know you do, though I wish I wasn't in second place."

"Yeah, Jimmy," he replied with regret. "I wish you weren't, either."