Cuddy sat up and looked around the room. It was just the two of them. No one else there to be having a conversation with. House sat up and looked at her with a combination of surprise and dread.
"There's no one here," Cuddy said.
House blinked and said, "Of course not."
"Who on earth were you talking to then?"
"Nobody. I was talking in my sleep," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I do that all the time. You know that."
"You were not asleep. You're wide awake," she pointed out. "You were talking to somebody, House, and it wasn't me."
"No, I wasn't. You were just hearing things."
"And you just said you were talking in your sleep."
"I lied."
He tossed aside the covers and had one foot on the floor when Cuddy grabbed his wrist. "You were talking to Amber. I heard you say her name. I heard you say her name the other night, House." She waited for him to say something, but he just stared at the floor in a stony silence. "Why were you talking to someone who is dead, House?"
"I was not talking to someone who is dead. You didn't hear a thing. You're mistaken."
He wrenched his arm free and began to limp towards the door.
"Is this why you stopped seeing the psychiatrist? Because you were afraid to talk about this?"
"That has nothing to do with it," he answered tersely.
She got out of bed and cut him off before he could reach the hallway. "So you're admitting it."
"No, I'm not admitting anything. I'm just saying the shrink was a quack who charged 200 dollars an hour to fall asleep while listening to me talk. That's why I didn't go back. The goddamn yahoo wasn't listening to a damn thing I was saying in the first place."
"I'm listening, House," she said, bringing her hand up to his face. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here. You know that."
Gently pushing her hand away, he said, "I have nothing to say right now, except get out of my way. I'm hungry and I need some coffee."
Cuddy frowned. It had been a long time since he had rejected any kind of attention or calming gesture from her. Something was eating away at him, and he determined to keep it to himself. No matter what the cost. "You won't talk to me, but you'll talk to Amber."
"I wasn't talking to Amber. I wasn't talking to anybody."
"Is that who you see when you look over your shoulder?"
"Move, Cuddy."
"No." She stood her ground, blocking the doorway. "We're not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on."
House shrugged and turned around, limping back to the bed. "Have it your way. Stand there all day for all I care. In the meantime I'll take a nice little nap. While I'm asleep you can run and tell Wilson--" House paused and turned back around, a sly, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "But you already have. That's why you were in his office the other day. You were blabbing all about my new imaginary friend."
"You're admitting it again," she said.
"No, I'm not."
"Talk to me, House. Please."
"There's nothing to talk about." He sat down on the bed with his back to her.
"House--"
"No!"
She left the doorway and walked over to him. He wouldn't look at her. "I know why you're afraid."
"You don't know anything," he grumbled.
"You're afraid of losing everything."
"It's so easy for you to tell me that, isn't it? You've never been afraid of losing it all, have you?"
"I just--"
"Put yourself in a different pair of shoes for a moment, Cuddy. Let's say that visions of Amber are dancing around that other person's head, and that person is a doctor. If he's found to be mentally ill, he can't practice anymore. And then what? What else is he supposed to do? Who would be willing to hire a crazy, crippled…what else is he supposed to do, Cuddy?"
"He can get help," she said, tilting his head up until their eyes met. "He will get the best help there is. I'll make sure of that."
He pushed her hand away again. "What if he doesn't want any help? What if he insists there is nothing wrong with him and there's not a damn thing anybody can do to prove otherwise. What happens then, Cuddy?"
