"You skipped your appointment with the psychiatrist," Cuddy said.

"I did," House replied nonchalantly. "So what?"

"Why did you do that?" She tried to hide her disappointment and failed miserably. "The shrink could have helped you, especially now."

"You're wrong. The shrink can't help what doesn't want to be helped. I just need some sleep and I'll be fine. Stop acting like I broke some sacred promise because I didn't. Pouting at me won't change my mind. What's done is done and I made the right decision."

"You really should have kept that appointment, House." This time she shamelessly let her sadness at his decision drip all over her words, not caring what he thought about it.

"I didn't. Too bad, so sad. Now let's move on."

"No. Tell me why you didn't keep that appointment."

"There's nothing to tell, Cuddy."

He glanced over his shoulder again. He had done that several times since they had arrived at her place.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Liar, she thought. "Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?"

"I thought I heard something," he answered. "I'm tired and I'm hungry. Can you at least feed me before drugging me into a coma?"

Changing the subject. Very sneaky. Typical House. He wasn't going to tell her anything now and she decided it was better that he get some rest rather than arguing with him for the rest of the night. Reaching over to take his hand, she said, "You need some sleep and you need those drugs to help you sleep. Why don't you take them and go to bed now?"

"Because I'm hungry now, and I think a nice filling meal will help me sleep better." He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb along her palm. "Don't you think so, Dr. Cuddy?"

"I think so," Cuddy agreed.

They had hamburgers and chips. Cheese and lots of ketchup for him, a plain patty with A1 sauce for her. House despised A1 with the burning passion of a thousand white-hot suns. He made a big show of scowling at the bottle she brought to the table, but otherwise said nothing about his strange hatred for the sauce and wolfed down his burger. Cuddy kept up the conversation and kept the mood light; House seemed distant and distracted, looking over his shoulder at least twice while he was eating.

She brought the bottle of sleeping pills and a glass of water to the bedroom while he brushed his teeth, then set out a pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt for him. A few minutes later he came limping in to the bedroom and glanced at the night clothes on the bed. He stripped off his jeans and button-down shirt and put on the night clothes without a word. She couldn't help but notice him tugging at his boxers, trying to hide the scar. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that it didn't bother her in the least. Cuddy handed him a sleeping pill and held out the water for him. He didn't take the water, instead he grinned, tipped the pill into his mouth and dry-swallowed it.

Setting the glass of water down on the night stand, Cuddy asked him, "You need anything else?"

"No, I'm good." House climbed into bed and flopped back into the pillow.

Unable to help herself, she sat down and brushed her hand against his scruffy cheek. "Those are some pretty strong pills. You'll be asleep before you know it."

"I know what they are," he said with a chuckle, pleased with attention she was doting on him. "But those pills have never been in my system before. We'll see who knocks who out in a little while."

"Pills or not, get some sleep, House."

"Yes, Mommy."

"Call if you need anything," she said, and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"I will," he promised as she switched off the lamp.

The rest of the evening was suppose to be spent enjoying the silence and catching up on her fashion magazines. It was too quiet and Cuddy found herself turning on the TV to compensate for the absence of House's running commentary. She then looked at the magazine in her lap and just absently flipped through the pages without really looking at them, her mind going to back to House, wondering if he was okay and if he would be okay. After nearly an hour she had to go check on him--he was completely zonked out. House fought the pills and the pills won, she thought with a grin. Thanks to one little prescription a tornado could come tearing the neighborhood and he would sleep right through it. Yet Cuddy found herself hoping that House was getting some of the rest he needed--at least in part--because he found some measure of comfort in her home and the attention she was lavishing on him. They were both shameless in that regard…not that either of them would ever admit it. Not in public, anyway.

A few hours later she joined him in bed. He was still out like a broken light. He was on his left side, facing her, one arm stretched out in front of him like he had been trying to touch something but gave up and just left his arm there. Out of habit she climbed in as carefully as possible even thought there would be no waking him up this time. She inched closer until she could hear him breathing, the long, steady breaths of someone in a deep sleep. Smiling even though no one could see her, she entwined her fingers in his and didn't let go as she drifted off.

A voice. House's voice. He was speaking very clearly, sounding wide awake and rested.

"I slept very well, thanks."

But she hadn't asked him anything. She had been sleeping and woke up when he spoke.

Cuddy's eyes flew open. It was morning, probably time to get up. She could see the sunlight shining on the opposite wall. Her back was to House. She heard the mattress springs squeak as he sat up and felt something very much like dread form a knot in her stomach when she heard him speak again.

"I spend the night here all the time, Amber. What are you going to do about it?"