She brought him his cane and he let her lead him to the bedroom, but he wouldn't let her touch him once he sat on the bed. "Don't," he muttered, pushing her hands away when she reached over to help him out of his shirt. She reached again and he pushed her away with a bit more force than necessary to make his point. Giving up, Cuddy took a step back and watched him dry-swallow a Vicodin, then lift his bad leg on the bed and flop back onto the pillows. Still in his tee-shirt, jeans and sneakers, he turned away so his back was facing her and mumbled, "Leave me alone."

Like hell I am.

"I'm not leaving you, House." She kicked off her shoes then walked around and climbed into the other side of the bed and stretched out beside him.

"You shouldn't be around me." His voice was raw and strained.

"Too late. I'm already around you. I've been around you for years. A few more minutes won't matter."

"You're making a mistake."

"It's my mistake to make," she said, reaching over and taking his bandaged hand. He didn't try to push her away; he didn't seem to have the energy to.

"You're going to regret it," House told her. "Everyone else has."

"I'm not everyone else, and I don't regret anything that has to do with you, House."

"I broke a mirror. Seven years bad luck."

"I'll take the risk," Cuddy replied and gave him a faint smile to let him know she didn't care about the damn mirror. It could be replaced. House couldn't.

He didn't return her smile. "Do you want to know why I broke the mirror?"

"Because you were upset?"

"Because I didn't like what I saw."

"What did you see?"

"Me." He pulled his hand away suddenly as if her touch burned him.

"House," Cuddy began as her heart sank, "don't talk like that."

"I hated what I saw--"

"House! Enough…that's enough. You don't have to say anything else. Just close your eyes and get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow."

"Sleep…like that will solve everything," he muttered with a flat chuckle as he began to sit up. At first Cuddy thought he was going to get up, but he just turned over until his back was facing her again. "Maybe luck will be on my side for once and I won't wake up."

Cuddy spooned up behind and began to run her fingers through his coarse hair. He tried to swat her hand away, but she stayed put, firmly resisting his attempts to make her go away. Eventually he gave up. Looking over at him, Cuddy noticed his eyes were closed and he seemed to be relaxing a bit. He didn't want her to go away. It was just the misery talking; it was all for show.

Feeling drained as if her batteries were wearing out, Cuddy dozed with him for a while. Her fingers were still entwined in his hair. Neither moved, laying there on top of the comforter, still in the clothes they wore to work.

A buzzing noise like a sluggish fly lazily circling the room. And she was cold. Why was she so cold? Good God, she was freezing and dog tired. Something was nagging at the back of her mind…Was it time to get up? What time is it anyway? What on earth…?

The buzzing wasn't buzzing, it was House snoring his way through a fitful sleep. Cuddy rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes and looked around the room. The bedroom was fine. Nothing out of place except House and his stubborn refusal to take off his clothes or shoes. The bathroom and living room were a wreck, covered with broken glass. House had had a meltdown and took it out on the lamp table and bathroom mirror. Sighing heavily, Cuddy got up and changed into some sweats and the well-worn sneakers she wore to run errands and do household chores. Time to assess the damage.

She decided to save the bathroom for last and made a beeline to the living room. The smell of booze filled the room. She opened a window, then began to clean up. Remarkably, the lamp itself and table survived, the only thing broken was the bulb. A quick trip to the hall closet brought her a new bulb and more light. She righted the coffee table. A large towel soaked up the puddle of scotch. As she wondered if a steam cleaner could get out the stain, Cuddy picked up the books and knick-knacks. The books were a little worse for the wear; one or two had torn pages that a few strips of scotch tape couldn't mend. The knick-knacks were beyond nothing but the trash. A few broken pieces still poked up from the carpet. She was leery of running the vacuum and waking House up, but it had to be done. Waking him up was the lesser evil of having one or both of them step on a piece and bleed all over the damn place. She didn't know if a steam cleaner could get blood out, either.

The bathroom looked like a war zone. The mirror House pulverized because he didn't like what he saw in it would remain where it was for the time being since she didn't feel like slicing herself to ribbons trying to take it down. Donning thick rubber kitchen gloves she shoveled the mirror pieces from the sink into the trash can. No carpeting on the floor made it rather easy to sweep up rest of the mess. The blood came right off with the cleaner she used on the bathtub.

Back in the bedroom there was no sign that the racket from the vacuum had woke up House. She toed off her sneakers, then shuffled her way over to him and began to unlace his shoes.

"You don't have to do that."

Cuddy looked up to see House looking right back.

"I don't have to do anything," she replied, pulling off one sneaker and starting work on the other. "But you'll be more comfortable with them off."

"Why were you vacuuming?"

"I was cleaning up the stuff you smashed."

"What happened to the scotch?"

"It spilled all over my carpet."

"Is there any left?"

"No."

"That's too bad. That stuff wasn't cheap. I'll pay for whatever I broke."

She pulled the other sneaker off, tossed it on the floor with its match, and said, "If that's what you want."

"I'll pay for another air mattress, too."

"I'll send you a bill."

"You're not angry with me." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I'm not."

"I broke your things."

"They were just things, that's all. I can get new things."

"You got what you wanted out of me tonight," he said. "You saw me cry. Was it what you expected it to be?"

"No, it wasn't. Next time I'll think it over a little more carefully."

"The next time you see me cry?"

"The next time I push you too hard and you push back."

"An interesting way of putting it." House mused. "You're obviously not throwing me out." He looked down at his sneakers. "How much destruction of your personal property will that take, Dr. Cuddy?"

"Let's not find out the answer to that question, okay?"

"I agree, let's not. You probably won't know the answer to this question, but I'll ask it anyway," he began. "If the roles had been reversed, if Amber had called from the bar and I had gone to pick her up and wound up dying instead, would Wilson have left her standing in his vacant office as he walked away?"

Cuddy could feel herself shattering as the mirror had shattered. Blinking away tears, she replied, "You know I can't answer that."

"I know. I don't expect you to answer it." He frowned while watching her tears streak down her cheeks and drip onto the comforter. "I wonder if Wilson can answer it. I wonder if he's asked himself that question."